Hellmouths Are for Lovers
by KleioVerity
Summary: (Post S 8 BtVS/S4 SPN, spoilers for later seasons) Dean was never meant to be the Sword of Michael, and Buffy was not meant to be the Ninth Seal, but if you want to jump start an Apocalypse, you have to disrupt a few fates, right? Unfortunately, the Moirae don't like it when you play in their sand box.
1. Introduction

Normal.

Buffy Summers had been envious of people with normal lives. It had taken some time for her to accept her destiny, to really be honest with embracing her fate. She was never going to have a 9-to-5 or a suburban address… or a wedding anniversary. Sixteen year old Buffy would never have accepted that twenty-six year old Buffy was going have a life that would never resemble normal, ever. But, maturity yielded perspective. Now Buffy knew that if sixteen year old Buffy had gotten her way that she would have ended up very miserable.

She was the record holder—the longest living Slayer to date. And, she had no intention of retiring any time soon. There was a certain comfort now with abnormality. The idea of "settling down" seemed pretty pedestrian. Her normal was slaying, and no normal, average Joe was going to fit into that equation. But, Dean… Dean was different. He had grown up in the life, trained from childhood to hunt evil. The parallels between their lives were not lost on Buffy—replacement father figures, supernaturally touched siblings, crawling out of your own grave… the similarities were eerie and familiar.

If there was any kind of life to be built and shared in their world, they might have that possibility with each other.


	2. Chapter One

A burst of crystallized air floated away as she breathed on her hands. To a California kid, anything lower than eighty degrees was a frost warning. Slayer endurance notwithstanding, Cleveland was still freezing in December. Buffy worried she was getting weak in her old age. In Slayer years, she practically qualified for Social Security. Slayers weren't meant to live past their twenties- her powers were not designed for longevity, maybe they diminished with age,

She shook the thought away, or she could have just been shivering. Just two weeks until her 27th birthday, but she wasn't willing to admit defeat and start insisting she felt old. Sure, she didn't exactly understand the appeal of Skinny jeans, and no, she didn't tweet... but, she was not getting old! It's just fucking cold—that was all.

Checking her watch again, it was only about ten minutes since she last looked. One thing she could not deny was that her patience for cemetery patrol was waning with age. Even if she was camping out for vamps that were on the hunt for some Apocalypse inducing amulet, it had lost its edge. In the last few years Buffy had traveled the world, battled some epically evil forces, ascended to demi-god... had a lesbian experience... in the end, patrol seemed small potatoes.

"God damn, Castiel!" a deep voice split the cold, silent night.

Seemingly out of nowhere, two flash light beams were bouncing in the distance. Buffy slipped around to the side of the mausoleum. Waiting patiently in the concealment of the long shadow cast by the moon, she watched as the vamps approached, armed with a crowbar and a hammer. Slipping her hand inside her purple wool trench, Buffy readied _Mr. Pointy_.

"Do I really need to point out the irony of that statement?" the taller, second vamp asked.

"That teleport crap makes me motion sick."

"Lilith's down to nine seals, Dean. We didn't exactly have time to drive to Cleveland."

As the vamps placed the crowbar into the seam of the door, she readied herself to strike the minute they emerged inside.

"Why Cleveland?" the shorter, more ruggedly handsome- not that it mattered, because she was so overly done with dating vampires- the one called _Dean_ asked in an exasperated kind of way.

"Actually, Cleveland is historically famous as a gateway to hell. Demonic activity has culminated here for millennia- in fact, the Erie Indian told stories of-"

Even Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Dude!" the _Dean_ one interrupted the tall, long haired one, frustrated from trying to unsuccessfully wedge open the entrance, "Can we please save the Intro to Demonology lecture for later. I need a little leverage, Sam."

Clearly, these guys were not vamps—a vampire would not have this much trouble with busting open a door. They were too incredibly human… and, possibly brothers from the level of bickering. The _Sam_ one rivaled Giles in useless occult factoids. If they were some uber-evil's human minions, this was going to complicate the situation. She had to re-think her plan, and slid _Mr. Pointy _back inside her interior jacket pocket.

"I'm just saying, it's not a surprise they would bury a Slayer here," Sam continued, voice strained from effort, "Supernatural activity always swarmed around hell gates- remember Wyoming? They used to call Sunnydale "The Hellmouth" before they succeeded in collapsing the portal to hell, and since then its been like a ghost town... except, without ghosts."

The mention of her own handiwork gave her pause, and she eased back down. These guys were unnervingly well informed minions.

"Cas said the next seal to be broken would be the third death of the Slayer. Lilith cut down a slayer here a century and some change ago, so it doesn't seem surprising she would return to the scene of the crime for the sequel."

_Third death of the slayer_. That knocked the breath right out of her lungs. At least until she heard the sound of splintering wood. Time to focus up.

* * *

The Winchester brothers entered the tomb of Amelia Walker, a slayer that had lived during the time of the Civil War. In the middle of the chamber was a sarcophagus that held her remains, inside which they would find an amulet that had been blessed with protection, which basically worked by amplifying the Slayer's power until she was nearly invulnerable. For quite some time it had proven successful, making Amelia the previous record holder for Slayer longevity. Dean remembered this because Sam had felt it necessary to tell him this during the prior day's research. He also knew that the current Slayer was now the oldest Slayer to ever live- thank you Sam, man of useless facts. Unfortunately for Amelia, Lilith was more powerful than anyone could have ever conceived at the time, and when she was killed, the amulet had been buried with her.

"Are you going to help me with this?" Dean asked when he realized he was the only one pushing on the lid.

A shot to his poor, unsuspecting kidney had sent Sam to his knees. Dean spun around at the sound of Sam's pain, unsheathing Ruby's knife. Sam had been leveled by a blonde demon- a kinda hot, in a petite way demon... not that it mattered, because he was still going to gank her ass. Damn, she was fast though. Faster than any demon he had encountered, and one kick sent the knife flying out of his hand. As Dean's eyes broke from the Demon to follow the knife, hoping to catch where it landed, she struck him hard in the diaphragm, sending him to the floor as well. Metal scraped against concrete as it slid away to be lost in darkness. Rising to his feet, Sam splashed her with a bottle of holy water, and a handful of salt for good measure. It did little but burn her eyes, and elicit some sarcasm.

"Salt?" she gasped, furiously rubbing at her burning eyes, "Do I look like a slug?"

Discombobulated, Sam took her to the ground, pinning her next to the sarcophagus. Struggling to throw Sam, she bucked and writhed until she succeeded. Rising from her prone position, Dean's large hand clasped her throat, throttling her against the wall.

"Read it!" Dean shouted.

But, Sam had barely begun the exorcism incantation when her knee impacted Dean's groin, forcing him to release her neck. When he collapsed, she finished with a solid elbow to the back of his head for good measure. All Dean saw was swirling colors and dots. Throwing all her weight she body-checked the slab, and it shifted off the setting enough to knock Sam backwards. The blonde demon fished out the amulet, and disappeared into the darkness outside.

"You okay?" Sam asked cautiously, bending down to the slumped pile that remained of his brother.

Dean's response was an angry looking interpretation of _Blue Steel_.

"Why do bitches always go for your junk, man?"

Extending his hand, Sam assisted Dean to his feet.

"Without that amulet to amplify the power of the Slayer, she's as good as dead," Sam sighed, "She's got absolutely no chance against Lilith."

Leaning on the sarcophagus for support, buckled at the waist, Dean replied, "What good was it gonna do her anyway? It didn't do this one any good," he indicated to the slayer corpse with his thumb.

"There was only one slayer tapped back then. When they released all the potentials a couple years ago the power of the slayer magnified to unprecedented levels. She could use that amulet to channel the power of every slayer in the world."

"And, if Lilith gets her hands on it, she could use that power to reveal her true form... and if that happens, no one's going to have a chance."


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks to Nicaha23 and Malizooski91 for my first reviews. Glad you're enjoying the ride.

* * *

The light was still on in the kitchen when Buffy returned to their apartment from patrol.

"We've got trouble in River City," Buffy announced as the amulet landed on the open pages of Willow's book with the soft muted thud.

"What?" Willow questioned, grabbing the amulet and inspecting it back to front.

Making her way straight to the bookcase, Buffy scanned the titles, her fingers grazing over the gold leafed words, "Two guys came looking for it, just like you said Willow, but they weren't vamps," Buffy ripped a book from the shelf, furiously rifling through pages, "They never even flashed a vamp face when I fought them. They were regular ol' human guys."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Willow rebutted, "The runes I cast clearly stated that two vampires were coming for this thing," she scrambled for the paper on which she had written down and interpreted all the messages, "See, right here," she pointed to symbols and her handwritten interpretation of them she had pulled from Giles' book of ancient runes, "Two vampires. Loyalty and Forgiveness. Dark Savior. Amulet. Protection- clearly two vamps out of favor with Lilith are on the search for her protection amulet ."

"You got all that from the runes?" Buffy lifted her head to quirk a skeptical eyebrow. "One of them said this thing belonged to a Slayer named Amelia Walker, Will," Buffy added gently.

Willow started to respond, but simply closed her mouth and dropped her eyes back to the rune book.

"I know... I'm just... I'm just a poor replacement compared to him."

"Don't say that, Will," Buffy's voice was stern and commanding, "We all miss Giles. You're the best hope we have without him. "

"Gee thanks- no pressure, or anything," She huffed, letting a beat pass between them in the hope of steering the conversation in a new direction, "So, if this thing was meant to protect the Slayer, what good does it do Lilith?"

"I overheard one of them say it amplifies Slayer powers. I can only assume with my awesome powers of deduction that because some aspect of my power is demon based, it would also amplify her power too…," her voice trailed at the end as she found wha she had been seeking, or rather, what she had been fearing.

"Oh, lovely," Willow replied, slipping back into her chair defeatedly.

"Yeah," Buffy nodded carrying the book over and dropping it on top of the one Willow had been reading, "Especially considering the fact she wants to use it to kill me..."

Buffy pointed to a passage from Giles book of biblical seals, and Willow's eyes widened as she read the passage out loud.

"Upon the third death of the oldest living Slayer the ninth seal shall break."

"I heard one of the guys mention it." Buffy slipped down in the chair beside Willow, raking her hand through her blonde bangs, "Apparently, Lilith isn't going to start this Apocalypse singe handedly."

* * *

Keys jingled in Sam's hand as he opened the door to their current luxurious thirty dollar a night dive. He managed only to get bits and pieces of the phone conversation Dean was having with Bobby. From the look on Dean's face, Bobby was being less than understanding.

"Calm down. She came out of nowhere, Bobby! I didn't even recognize this demon- kinda short, blonde hair, fast as hell!"

There was a pause on Bobby's end.

"You idjit!"

Even sitting at this laptop at the table across the room, Sam heard Bobby shout all the way through the phone.

"You marched right into Cleveland, and didn't even talk to the Slayer, did you?" Bobby indicted.

"Uh... "Dean smiled bashfully, "Not exactly."

"Dammit Dean, that _was_ the Slayer- the original one. I can't believe you didn't even think to check in with her and compare notes before you went after the amulet!"

"Time was of the essence!" Dean argued, throwing up the hand not holding the phone. "It's not like she's gonna be in the white pages!"

"And, we certainly couldn't try and track her, could we boys? No. Why would Tango and Cash want a little back up on this one?"

"Alright, I get it. We majorly fucked up. I'll fix it," Dean fell back on the bed. "I'll call you when we find her." Dean groaned from his back, letting the phone drop, and directing his next comment at Sam, "Bobby said that blonde chick was the slayer."

"The salt and holy water had me wondering," Sam admitted.

"We gotta go back to the cemetery, don't we?"

"Well, something tells we're not going to find her on Facebook."


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: Thanks to Abigael Ryan for the review. It's only getting started.

* * *

"Is it too much to ask to have blinked the Impala to Cleveland?" Dean complained as they arrived on their return trip to the cemetery, after having walked to the motel and back. "Do I look like a freakin' Apostle?"

"What exactly are we looking for?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother's bitching.

"Just keep your eyes to the ground. Hopefully she dropped something we can use to track her."

"That seems overly optimistic..." Sam mumbled under his breath.

As they approached the mausoleum where they had tussled with the Slayer, voices could be heard inside the chamber. The Winchester's stepped behind the the cover of a large Oak tree to get a better look.

"What do you mean it's gone?" A male voice asked.

"Like I said mate, it's not there. It's gone. If you would like, I can draw you a picture if you're really strugglin' with this concept," another responded, male and with an accent from across the pond.

"Move- it has to be in here. You're just not looking hard enough."

"Fine, until you're done actin' like a poncy little girl, I'll be outside havin' a smoke."

The British man exited the chamber, bleach blonde slicked hair and wearing a retro looking black trench. He sat down on the steps of mausoleum and lit up a cigarette.

"Dude, am I going crazy," Dean hung back around the trunk, "or, is Billy Idol raiding a grave?"

"I'm just as confused as you... but, they're obviously here for the same amulet we are."

"Demons?"

"Only one way to find out."

Emerging from around the tree, Sam reset his gun and Dean unsheathed the knife.

"Yo, _Rebel Yell_!"

Startled, the blonde man jumped to his feet, and flicked his cigarette to the side.

"Angel!" he yelled to the man inside, "We have company. Gonna want to put on your face."

Instantly his face contorted into a monstrous snarl and he postured himself for the attack.

"Angel?" Sam asked, the name sounding slightly reminiscent.

"Well that answers our question. Hope you're not overly attached to you head." Dean brandished the knife, stepping towards the vampire.

"Wait a minute, Dean," Sam thrust his arm out to block Dean, "He knows the Slayer," he pointed to the vampire who had exited from the mausoleum, and directed his next comment at him, "Angel- as in, the vampire with the soul?"

Their faces contorted back to normal, once again taking on human features.

"Ya'know, I'm tired of you gettin' all the credit for havin' a soul," The blonde protested, "I have a soul too, and I didn't get mine by pissin' off some gypsies- I fought for mine!"

"Shut up, Spike." Angel spat, pushing past him as he came down the steps to approach the Winchesters, "Who wants to know?"

"Sam Winchester," Sam replied, "This is my brother Dean."

"You're hunters, aren't you?"

"Yeah, and I think we're probably both here for the same reason."

"Woah... Sammy," Dean flashed a fake smile, pushing his brother back a step, smile dropping when Dean had his back to the vamps, and whispered, "We are not working with vampires. I don't care if they have souls, or not."

"Trust me on this," Sam's face was resolute, and Dean backed down for a second. "You're not going to find the amulet in there."

Spike punched Angel on the upper arm, "_You're not lookin' hard enough_," he said in a whiny imitating voice, "I told you it wasn't in there."

Rolling his eyes at Spike, Angel asked, "And, why not?"

"Because the slayer took it from us about an hour ago..." Dean huffed, unsure of whether it was wise to share that information.

"Right after she kicked your ass," Spike laughed.

"Trust me, we're not here to hurt her. We were sent her to find that amulet and help her out."

"By who?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but... by an Angel."

"A real one," Dean added with a smirk, "Not just some vampire with douchy name."

"I think I'm gonna like him," Spike chuckled.

"Dean..." Sam growled.

"So, why did she work you over and take the amulet if you're here to help her?" Spike inquired.

"She doesn't know we're here to help her." Sam admitted, "I think she thought we were demons."

"And, what, you want us to take you to her?" Angel questioned.

"If it's not to much to ask."

Dean snorted at the politeness that Sam was showing to a couple of freaking vampires, and Sam hit him in the gut with his elbow.

"She doesn't know we're here either, but I have an idea where to start," Angel's eyes averted to the horizon, "But, the sun's about to rise and..." Angel smirked, "...we forgot our sunscreen."

"How about this- you guys can crash in our motel room until sunset in exchange for any information you can give us on the Slayer."

Though he said nothing, Dean's expression was practically screaming _"You got to be fucking kidding me, Sammy!"_

"Buffy," Angel replied.

"What?" Sam asked, diverting his eyes from his seething brother.

"Her name," Angel repeated, "It's Buffy Summers."

"Buffy?" Dean couldn't help but laugh, "Her name is Buffy? _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_."

"Yeah, it is." Angel stepped up to Dean menacingly.

"Does that mean we have a deal?" Sam asked, reaching out to shake Angel's hand, and prevent him from beating Dean to death.

"Fine," Angel returned the gesture, and they shook, "But, I swear, if this is a trick to hurt her," he said, directing the next part towards Dean, "I'll rip out your neck."

"Likewise, Cupcake," Dean retorted.

"Well, if you prats are all done with your pissin' contest..." Spike started in the direction of a black Pontiac GTX, and Angel followed.

"A '67," Dean mentioned, a little giddiness creeping into his voice as he slapped Sam on the back, "Well, he may be kind of dickbag, but at least he rides in style."


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers. I have to admit, writing the end chapter of this actually made me cry. But, despite the risk of any waterworks, I am seriously enjoying writing the dialogue for these characters. =)

* * *

Nothing seemed unchanged- from her nineties midriff halter to the red solo cup in her hand. _The Bronze_, circa 1999, right down to "_Dingoes Ate My Baby_" playing on stage. This was the most vivid dream she had experienced in some time, or least, it was the most vivid one that did not include a horrific replay of Giles neck snapping before her helpless eyes. A strange flutter and a waft of air preempted the sudden appearance of a dark haired man.

"I thought this was appropriate," he said, voice deep and coarse.

Though he spoke, her eyes still watched Willow and Xander dancing, and Oz playing the lead guitar part for "_She Knows_"- the song he had written for Willow.

"I can see why you would choose this as your heaven," he spoke again.

"It's the only place where we ever just got to be teenagers," a slight lump formed in her throat, "This place was like sacred ground for us. Everything we thought we wanted, we thought we'd find inside these walls," Buffy turned to face the stranger who had joined her at the high top table, "I remember you."

"It's hard to forget the face of the angel responsible for tearing you out of heaven," he acknowledged, "A trauma like that tends to stay with a person."

"You can definitely say it lingers," She sighed wistfully, but then smiled, "You know, I had forgotten that I purposely excluded Cordelia," nostalgia filled her mind, and it actually rent her heart to think about the girl that had tormented her in high school nearly as much as the hell spawn, "But, I guess she's probably up here somewhere too, now."

"The heaven of Cordelia Chase is a mall that never closes and a platinum credit card without a spending limit," He stated matter of factly, "I am unsure why one woman needs that many pairs of shoes."

That warmed Buffy's aching heart, "It's comforting to know that some things never change, no matter how much we're forced too."

"This would not be a suitable heaven for you now, would it?" He asked seriously.

"I can't even imagine what heaven would look like to me now," she admitted, "But, this... this might be a nice place to start," her eyes flicked towards Angel, whom she had been ignoring as he lingered in the darkness of the loft, "Minus one previously reoccurring character."

"Understandably so," He replied, and with a snap Angel disappeared into nothing.

Studying the dark haired angel's face, one that had haunted her for years, she asked, "Which one are you?"

"My name is Castiel," he responded, "And, I come bearing a message from the one called '_Giles_'."

"Giles?" Buffy did not mean to gasp, but she could not help it out of relief, out of knowing he was somewhere safe, "If... if it's about leaving everything in the will to Faith... tell him I get it, okay-"

"The Winchester brothers," He interrupted, "I believe you encountered them earlier this evening."

"If by that you mean the two minions of Lilith that I leveled at the mausoleum, then yeah, you can say we had an encounter."

"Buffy, I know that you are overly familiar with impending Apocalypses-"

"Yeah... you guys should really do something about that."

"The Winchesters are not '_minions_'" Castiel emphasized the word _minions_ with finger quotations, "They are working for me- I have sent them to help you. They are experienced hunters."

"Experienced,"Buffy snorted,"We can talk about 'experience'," Buffy mockingly finger-quoted the word, "After they crawl out of their own grave a couple times."

"Actually, much to Death's and the Fates' chagrin, they are most adept at subverting their own demise," Castiel sighed, "In fact, as a direct result of an act very similar to your own attempt of sibling chivalry, I was commanded to extract the older brother, Dean, from the afterlife as well."

"Is death just like a vacation to you guys? Because, where I come from its viewed as more of a permanent deal."

"While your sarcasm, I'm sure if I understood it, would be hilarious, our time is running out. You're about to wake up."

"Then what is the message you have from the '_Giles_'?"

"His message is this: _'Trust Dean. While he may seem like a bit of a scoundrel, he's both a righteous and courageous soul. Perhaps, no other person could possibly relate to your burdens quite so acutely'_."

"Wow..."

"You do not believe that Giles said this?"

"Oh no, from the vocabulary alone, I'm positive Giles said that," Buffy assured, "It's just super freaky-deaky to hear his words coming from your mouth."

"It's time that you return, Buffy," Castiel repeated, "But, know that Lilith is not to be easily trifled with. She fully intends of freeing Lucifer from his cage, and inciting hell on Earth. To do that, she must kill The Slayer- the true Slayer, and that means you. Regardless of the potentials which you have released, the only person who may be able to stop her is you. The Winchesters will be invaluable allies to have in this battle."

"You trust them?"

"To the end."

"And, Giles... he trusts them?"

"Yes, without a doubt. He said to mention that he read about them in a book," Castiel replied, making Buffy smirk, "Good Luck, Buffy."

"Wait!" She pleaded, grabbing his arm before his hand brushed her forehead, "Please, just tell me what Giles heaven looks like."

Castiel's face flashed an almost smile, the first emotion he had betrayed yet.

"It is a library... with every book ever written, in Latin..."

Buffy snickered, "Of course it is," her eyes closing awaiting his touch.

"...And a fully equipped gym," He continued, "Where he trains with you… every night."

That last bit actually made her lip quiver.


	6. Chapter Five

It never ceased to amaze her what the _Powers That Be_ considered "helpful information". They would bend the universe backwards to allow an angel to bring her a message from Giles, but could they provide her with an address where she could find the Winchesters? Of course not. Even if Lilith had broken another seal to do it, at least magic had been restored to the world. One location spell later, she was standing outside a seedy motel door numbered 113. The first knock did not produce much but some grumbling. The second time she pounded so hard the cheap metal numbers vibrated on their loose nails. There was more grumbling, then shuffling, and then cursing.

"... don't worry, I'll get the god damn..."

The door flew open, and Buffy Summers got a face full of angry, sleep deprived Dean Winchester.

"... Slayer."

"Morning sunshine," she grimaced, shamefully remembering the condition in which she had left him after their brawl, "Sorry about... mangling your danglies."

"Ouch, mate- my condolences."

Leaning into the doorway, Spike clapped an empathetic hand down on Dean's shoulder.

"Spike?" Buffy nearly choked, eyes wide by his sudden, unexpected appearance.

"You have exactly one second to put on a shirt," Dean responded flatly, eyes noticeably averted away from shirtless Spike.

"Don't get your kickers in a twist..." Spike grumbled, ignoring Dean's warning, and cocking a lustful eyebrow at Buffy, "What, no kiss hello?"

"One Mississippi..." Dean counted, cracking his knuckles for emphasis.

Pushing past Dean to shove Spike into the room, Buffy asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You're life on the line, and you expect me not to come runnin'?" Spike feigned offense as he slipped a black t-shirt over his head, "You wound me, Slayer," He huffed, "Insultin' my loyalty..."

_Loyalty._.. the word did not sit comfortably with her, and as the bathroom door opened and he appeared through a cloud of steam, suddenly Willow's runes made a lot more sense.

Two vampires, loyalty and forgiveness. Spike and… Angel.

The towel from his hand hit the floor, and she had him pinned against the room's decorative divider before he even knew she was there. The point of her stake pressed sharply through the fabric of his shirt, needling his skin above his heart.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Buffy?" Angel managed.

"Is that the Slayer?" Sam asked, having arrived, diner bag breakfast in hand.

Dumping the bags on the table, Sam tried to intervene, but Dean grabbed his arm to hold him back.

"Let her go, Sammy," He whispered, "We needed him to find the slayer, and she just walked through our door. End of business relationship."

"Dean," Sam jerked out of his grasp, "They helped us."

"You mean, like Ruby helped us?"

"They have souls!" Sam reminded him breaking towards the Slayer.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't?" Buffy taunted.

"Buffy... I..." Angel stammered.

"Not a reason," She spat, pressing the stake further until it made him wince.

Sam's hand came down over Buffy's nearly covering it, "I think we all just need to relax."

Her shoulders dropped, "Yeah, I'm just upset…" She admitted, quickly elbowing Sam in the gut, causing him to stumble backwards, "…because the last time I saw this bastard I had to watch him twist my Watcher's neck like a bottle cap."

"I gotta agree with the lumberjack, love," Spike protested, "Don't waste your energy on this useless wanker. There are bigger fish here in Cleveland."

"You know what, you're right..." Buffy agreed, throwing Angel to the ground.

Flat on his back, Buffy jammed her boot into his neck, and flipped up the shade on the window. Sunlight flooded the room. In less than a second sparks were flaring on his skin. The agony of the searing light was evident by his attempt to scream, but Buffy's boot heel allowed nothing but a strangled whine. After what could have been no more than a few seconds, she dropped the shade and lifted her foot.

Bending down towards his ear, skin scalded, but already beginning to heal, she said, "That's just the teaser trailer for what I have planned for you..."

Stepping away, she left him there writhing in pain. The others who stared in horror, or in Dean's case, awe, said nothing as she approached Spike. He of course had the most to fear after Angel.

"Congratulations, Miss Congeniality" She smirked, grabbing his hand and slamming the handle into his palm, "You just won the crown. If he moves, stake him."

Clearly disturbed by her ferocity, unfamiliar when aimed at someone she had loved, or at least had once loved, Spike was silent. He merely closed his hand around the stake and nodded.

"Those of you with tans, we need to talk."

And, with that, Buffy was out the door. Sharing a few astonished looks, they said nothing with exception, of course, of Dean.

"That... was..." he searched for the appropriate words to express his feelings towards what he had just witnessed, "fucking awesome! Shit, I am thankful all I got was a shot in the junk."

"You coming, or what?" Buffy shouted, voice bouncing around the hall.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting," Sam pushed Dean out the door.

Peeling himself off the ground, Angel brought himself to his knees. Though freshly repaired, a tinge of heat still blushed his skin. Heavy with guilt, he could not bring his eyes to meet Spike.

"Go ahead," Angel spoke, "say it."

"Say what?"

"Don't act like you're not loving this."

"She may hate you, and that gives me a certain amount of jolly, but, that… that wasn't Buffy. At least, not the Buffy I knew, and certainly not the Buffy I loved."

"Well, thanks to me, that Buffy is gone. I as good as killed her when I killed Giles."

"And, that wasn't you."

"Yeah, and at what point does that stop being an excuse? I'm sick of being the walking time bomb."

"Listen, I know our history is just one long fight punctuated by birds, but I know you would throw yourself on a stake for Buffy. That's why I'm going to walk into the bathroom for thirty seconds, and when I come out, you're going to be disappeared."

"What about Lilith?"

"After what I just saw," Spike hesitated, hand on the door handle of the bathroom, "If she's sane, she's gonna to run too."


	7. Chapter Six

The best thing about bartenders was that they never judged. Sometimes, a situation called for a stiff drink, and sometimes you needed that drink at the earliest convenience. That is why when Dean and Sam followed Buffy into a bar at 9:18 in the morning, the bartender simply nodded and finished wiping a glass with his checkerboard towel.

"Whiskey," Dean took the liberty of ordering as the bartender approached the table, indicating the number of glasses with three fingers.

"Just bring the bottle," Buffy interjected, eyes on the table, head propped on her hand.

The boys shared a look, but merely shrugged in agreement. Once the bartender left to retrieve the bottle, Buffy produced the amulet from her pocket, holding it up so that it fell towards the table and caught on the chain. The bronze was tarnished from age and neglect, but the fire opal in the center flashed in the light.

"I need the lowdown on this," she requested.

"It's the protection amulet of a Slayer named Amelia Walker. It was made by her Watcher who had it blessed to intensify her powers. For a while it made her almost invincible, but... then she came up against Lilith-"

"About this Lilith chick-is she coming for me, or does she just have a dress that this would go perfect with?" Buffy interrupted.

"She's coming to kill you, which will break another seal," Sam replied, "Icing on the cake for her is she can use the amulet to intensify her powers too, like, enough to reveal her true demon form, and break loose of her vessel."

"And, by vessel, he means the third grader that psychotic bitch has been wearing for the last few months," Dean added.

The conversation halted as the bartender placed a water spotted tumbler in front of each and left a bottle of generic whiskey in the middle. Distributing some whiskey evenly among them, Dean slid the first tumbler towards the Slayer.

"That oughta take the edge off, _Sweetheart_."

Doing as she was told, Buffy downed the shot in one knock back, unable to avoid pulling a face and making a gag noise. Dean bit his lip to keep from chucking, but she read it in his face.

"Make the next one a double... _Prince Charming_," Her voice rough from the burn, "I know that breaking seals unleashes the Apocalypse, but how exactly do they accomplish that?"

"Basically, break enough seals, and Lilith can free Lucifer from his eternal time out," Dean said, obliging her with another glass, if for nothing else, to see her make that face again. "If she gets her hands on that thing, it's gonna remove her human restrictor plate, and when that happens stopping her will require the kind of biblical intervention that makes you want to start collecting two of every animal."

"I'm a little hesitant to ask, because I think I already know... but, if the amulet was designed for for the Slayer, how does Lilith use it?"

"Simple really," Sam broke it to her straight, knowing that he was going to hear it from Dean for not sharing this information earlier, "That amulet boosts up Slayer power… but your power is harnessed from the demon aspects imbued in the very first Slayer."

"I was afraid you were going to say that..." Buffy sighed.

"Demon aspect. You're part _demon_?" Dean asked, trying to subdue any contempt building in his throat, and avoiding Sam's eyes, "And, you still use your powers... what happens when you flip shit and go dark side?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little face, Deano," Buffy made a pout and lightly tapped his cheek, "They don't work like that. My power may be freshly squeezed from demon concentrate, but that's only so I have any chance at a fair fight. It's all about taking that darkness and using it for the good."

Though he would not look at Sam, Dean could feel him boring a hole into the side of his head. There was already a fight brewing between them. Dean had a feeling it would include plenty of _I told you so's._

"And, no offence or anything Sam, but I gotta admit, you're Rain Man level slayer knowledge is giving me the wig," She swirled the remaining whiskey in her glass, "How do you know so much about me, but I've never heard word one about you two?"

"Apparently, you don't watch the news," Dean smirked, "We're kind of a big deal."

"Well," Sam was embarrassed to admit this, "After Cas came to us about the amulet and this seal, I hit the books, but there isn't a ton avilable to the public on Slayer lore thanks to the Watcher's Council... and, I... resorted to the internet."

"Oh no," Buffy's face dropped, and grumbled "I should have killed Andrew when I had the chance."

"Actually, your buddy's YouTube channel on the History of the Occult is pretty spot on. The Slayer episode was extremely informational," Sam acknowledged.

"Alright," Buffy drug her hands down her face, "Quick recap. Lilith, a.k.a. psycho-bitch-mega demon, is on her way to Cleveland for me, and the amulet. And, we..." Buffy looked less than optimistic when she said that part, "...we have to stop her."

"That's the jist, Darlin'. The question is what do you plan to do about it?" Dean responded going for another glass.

"Well, call me an amateur here, but I'd say probably use this," Buffy was getting agitated by his condescending attitude, jiggling the amulet for emphasis.

"Sure..." Dean agreed, "And, when Lilith rips it off your mangled throat, then what?"

"Not that I exactly have a plan here, or anything... but letting Lilith eviscerate me really wasn't part of it," Buffy leered at him over the top of her glass rim.

"Buffy, I know that we didn't exactly go about this whole thing the best way, but we've been on the receiving end of Lilith's fury. I gotta be honest, she is the scariest god damn demon I've ever dealt with, and Dean and I have been doing this since we were kids."

"We'll I've been averting Apocalypses since I was fifteen. How many have you stopped, Sam?"

"Potentially, or like, for sure on the books?"

"Look, we ain't amateurs at this either," Dean sneered, "Sammy and I have been dealing with underbelly of the afterlife since you were planning Sadie Hawkins dances. So, if you're worried about us, don't worry- we're battle-tested."

"We'll see..." She finished her glass, ick face and all. "What about your Angel buddy?"

"What about yours?" Sam replied.

"Angel's a non issue," She promised, "Dealing with him will be my present to myself for stopping Lilith. But, how confident do you feel about some divine assistance on this one?"

"Hit or miss," Sam sighed, "I'd call it a plan for the worst, but hope for the best scenario."

"Well… that means we're going to need back up. And, if I am going to crash an uber-demon's Apocalypse party, I'm going to need some meddling kids."


	8. Chapter Seven

"Yeah, I know, I know. It's short!" She said, keeping her ravenous readers at bay with a large, pointy stick. "Don't make me release the hounds!"

My apologies on the short update, but hopefully I will have another by tomorrow night if not sooner. But, much love to reviewers **lostsonia**, **ippogriffin**, and **JessAngelus**. For the thousand or so views I have had since posting, I've had a rather dry spell on reviews. Thanks- they came just when I needed to hear them!

* * *

It was like an itch on his taste buds, the craving for demon blood. The things he could do now were startling even to him, and there was not much left in this world that shocked Sam. He had noticed a tick that would appear when he was starting to withdrawal. To his knowledge, if Dean had not picked up on it... but then again, the adjectives i"communicative"/i and i"open"/i were not usually attributed to Dean. Even if he had noticed, he would not let on to Sam right away. When Buffy stepped away to make a few phone calls, Sam slipped away into the bathroom. Splashing a few handfuls of cold water on his face did nothing to sate his desire for her, for the bittersweet flavor of her blood on his lips. He was far overdue for a fix.

"You are some kind of dumb ass, Sam Winchester."

From over his shoulder he heard her voice, and some part of him down deep inside was relieved, it almost made him smile. He hated that. He needed, no... scratch that, he absolutely had to be done with her. Ruby crossed the mirror, his eyes following until she leaned against the graffiti collaged wall, crossing her arms and giving him that disappointed look.

All he could think about was ripping her clothes off and sucking her veins dry.

"Really? The Slayer? Have I taught you nothing, or are you just not listening?"

"You're one to talk about listening-" the tremor in his hands was distracting, "I told you I was done."

"Oh, Sammy," she said in her breathy, condescending way, stepping up finger the collar on his plaid button down teasingly, "We both know you can't go three days, and I know you don't want to even if you could."

"You're wasting your time."

"I've got all day," She smirked, "So, how about a good ol' fuck and suck?"

"Dean's outside," he warned.

"Okay, fine..." Ruby rolled her eyes, "He can watch."

Her proximity was a growing issue, literally. Pushing her away only antagonized her more.

"What's your malfunction here, Sam? I thought we were over this hesitation crap? The things you can do when you drink... no lame ass slayer can do what you do. Can you even comprehend what you unleash with that amulet?"

"I'm losing control of my abilities as it is- there's no way in hell I'm using that amulet."

"That's the point, idiot- you're bred to lose control. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you'll be. Azazel wasn't kidding when he said you were special. There's only one person who is going to stop Lilith, and it's not going to be some Vampire Slayer with a pretty necklace."

"YO!" Dean's voice echoed and he pounded on the bathroom door.

"He's just holding you back."

"He's my brother."

"He's your excuse."

"Do you need some Pepto, or something?" Dean asked, coming through the door impatiently.

It made him jump, and Sam knew he was caught.

"Dude, you good?"

Sam looked at Dean, then back to where Ruby was standing, but had now vanished. Relieved he had avoided being caught in such a compromising situation, he replied with a simple:

"Yeah, sorry."

As Sam passed by him through the doorway, Dean knew. It was the acrid scent of sulfur that gave him away.

"Damnit, Sammy..." Dean whispered to himself.

Apparently, Dean was going to have to kill that hell bitch himself.


	9. Chapter Eight

A/N: My apologies for the delay- I know I promised last night, but I had internet connection issues for a couple hours, and eventually I just gave up and went to bed. But, it actually turned out alright considering when I went to the coffee shop this morning to write, I ended up completely changing everything I intended to post. Happy accidents, and so on and so forth...

So, without further ado, submitted for your approval- a long, banter filled, Dean-Buffy centric chapter that gets the ball rolling on this supposed relationship I promised.

Also, thanks to **BloodyPasion** for the super review! And, I apologize for what I assume are the massive load of typos. It's 3 AM, and I only re-read this once. I just could not wait to post this!

* * *

Sometimes, Buffy desperately missed _The Magic Box_—a veritable library with unlimited information, on-demand supply of magic ingredients, and most importantly, a space for some proper training. But, since they had none of these things on the level to which they had been formally accustomed, Buffy had learned to become much more flexible. And, by flexible, she meant breaking into places and stealing stuff. Which is why when Dean suggested they find a place to trial run the amulet, she did not hesitate when he further suggested breaking into _"some old warehouse"_. The apartment she was currently sharing with Willow would have to do for now.

"I called Faith again, and as usual, had to leave a message," Willow stated, providing Buffy with an update, "But, I just got off the phone with Xander. The best they can do is a Red-Eye. They'll be here sometime in the morning."

"It's nice that you're includin' the_ "One Eyed Wonder"_ in our shenanigans," Spike added from the comfort of the couch, where he reclined enjoying a warm mug of blood and a black and white movie, "It's nice to give him small jobs, make him feel important."

"Careful what you say about Buffy's brother-in-law," Willow warned, smiling as she anticipated Spike reaction.

"Brother-in-law?" Spike groaned, "You let the _'Little Bit'_ marry the '_Useless Git_'?"

"Speaking of useless…" Buffy dropped a couple of dusty tomes on the couch next to him, "Why don't you make yourself less of that?"

"Research?" Spike laughed arrogantly, "I'm the muscle, pet," he stretched out his legs, pushing the books towards the edge of the cushion with, intending them to hit the floor, "I don't do research."

"Apparently, you don't do directions either," She spat, catching the books and dropping them on his stomach, which would have been much more satisfying if he required oxygen, "because, I remember using the exact words 'If he moves, stake him'."

"He overpowered me," Spike lied, "Besides, who's going to help you test the amulet?"

"Oh, stuck with the books? My condolences." Dean's hand clapped down on Spike's shoulder like he had done to Dean just hours ago, "Don't worry, Blondie Bear, she's in good hands."

"You told—" Spike sneered, cutting himself off before he got in more trouble, "Bad show, Buffy."

"Don't take it so hard," Dean added sympathetically, "Research is important—plus, it's not as safe as you would think. You might get a paper cut."

"_Pretty Bo_y is gonna end up with a bloody nose if he doesn't watch his mouth…" Spike cautioned, "And, it wouldn't it be a terrible shame if I just couldn't control myself with all that blood gushin' everywhere…"

"Simmer down, boys," Buffy brought her hands up between them, shoving Dean back away from the couch, "Save some of that unbridled testosterone for demons."

A knock on the door drew them apart. Arriving with a good portion of his personal library, along with a few books he _"procured"_ from a university, Bobby was a welcome sight for the Winchesters. None more happy than Dean, who was finally reunited with his precious Impala. With their jobs assigned, no matter how reluctantly, and their reserves arriving, Buffy and Dean left to find a clear space to test the amulet- or in other words, to go break into an abandoned warehouse. There was no telling what she would do with the lift provided by the amulet. Part of her worried she might end up leveling half of Cleveland. Another part of her hoped she might get back the ability to fly, because let's just be honest, that was just fucking cool. But, the memory of that incident made her think of Angel, and suddenly the thrill was out of it. It took some wandering around, made easier this time with the use of the Impala, and eventually they found a space in a rundown industrial park that appeared would properly serve their purposes. Through the window, the inside looked dark and dank, but there was enough space that she wouldn't destroy anything more than some abandoned manufacturing equipment.

"I'm just saying," Dean continued the conversation that he had started some time ago, and apparently just could not let go, "Souls or not, I don't trust vampires."

"At the risk of sounding like an angsty tween protagonist, Angel and Spike were different," Buffy argued.

"In that they, being vampires, betrayed you several times after you ignored your Vampire Slayer instinct?" Dean's condescending tone was partially muffled as he fought with the lock of the exterior door.

"Dean, it was… complicated, alright. I refuse to believe you've never relied on adversarial assistance once or twice."

"Not if I can help it," Dean contested.

"So, in other word, yes. Yes, you have," Buffy stated confident in her assessment.

"Actually," He hesitated as the locking mechanism clicked loose, "I think Sam's mixed up with a demon by the name of Ruby. And, if I'm right, she's definitely complicating things."

Dean opened the door letting Buffy pass through into the interior, and she clicked the button on her flashlight.

"Don't trust her?"

"She's feeding Sam demon blood."

"Gross," Buffy made her whiskey ick face, and scanned around with her narrow beam of light, "Why?"

"It's a long story," Dean sighed clicking on his own flashlight and moving in the opposite direction.

"Well, then I certainly don't want to hear it," Buffy replied, "… said no one ever upon hearing that excuse."

"Can we just find the fuse box?" Dean pleaded.

In her ever obliging way, Buffy planted her feet and crossed her arms.

"I'll hold my breath if I have too."

"C'mon…"

Buffy inhaled deeply, puffing out her cheeks for dramatic emphasis.

"That's unbelievably childish, Buffy," Dean rolled his eyes, "I mean how old are—**LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU**!"

Immediately dropping to the ground, Buffy's eyes searched the darkness, ready to attack and gasping for air. But, not as much as Dean was in between laughing fits.

"Dean Winchester, epitome of maturity." She huffed, brushing the dirt from her clothes.

"Damn… side cramp" he wiped away a tear, still fighting the urge to laugh, "That was priceless."

"Alright, wise ass," Buffy shoved him towards the wall, "There's the box. Get the lights on so I can teach you a lesson."

After some finagling of wires, and possibly creating a fire hazard, the lights popped and crackled on.

"Let's take my new toy for a test drive," Buffy fought with the clasp, but her nails made it difficult. Defeated she handed it towards Dean, "Do you mind? I'm terrible with these things."

Dropping the amulet from her hand, she lifted her long blonde hair off her shoulders. Sliding the chain delicately around her neck, Dean attached the claw end to the loop. Buffy pretended not to notice how his fingertips grazed the soft skin of her neck, or the electricity that it sent shooting down her back. Dean pretended not to notice the enticing scent of cherry-vanilla that wafted into the air as she let her hair drop back onto ther shoulders. Instead, he stepped back and raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

"I don't feel any different," she frowned.

As the words finished leaving her mouth Dean was already swinging. Reacting the second her eyes registered the movement, her reaction time was instant. Suddenly, her body was in complete overdrive. Her pupils dilated, and every muscle in her body felt like it was part of a machine. She blocked swing after swing, twisting his arm behind his back.

"Um, Buffy, mind the arm socket," Dean mentioned, trying his best not to sound like a giant wuss suffering incredible pain, which was more to the case then he would let on.

"This is for that little stunt," she stated.

"I'm serious," his tone a little more stern.

"Tell me about Sam, and I'll let you go," she replied matter-of-factly.

"When you take that amulet off, I swear… ow, ow, god damn woman! Fine!"

Buffy eased a bit on the pressure.

"Sam's part demon," he admitted, albeit, unwillingly.

Buffy released him completely.

"Seriously?" Buffy questioned, "Your brother's part demon, and you were giving me shit? Hypocrite, much?"

"It's not like it was Sam's choice…"

"Yeah... I couldn't volunteer fast enough to be the slayer," Buffy retorted

"Look," Dean could not believe he was going to tell her this, "When he was six months old, a demon came to collect on a deal my mom made to save my dad's life… which he lost thanks to same said douchebag demon- but, instead of collecting her soul, he killed her and fed little Sammy a mouthful of demon blood. Flash forward twenty-two years, and he started having these visions. Then, next thing you know, this Ruby chick shows up and convinces him to use his powers 'for the good'," he used her own words against her mockingly, "Which basically means juicing up on demon blood until he does things that scare the shit outta me. I mean, when he's on that stuff… he exorcised a demon, with his fucking mind!"

Treading carefully, with Castiel's words in her mind, she hesitantly asked, "That's how you died, isn't it? Trying to save Sam."

"How do you know about that?" Dean questioned uncomfortably.

"A little bird told me..." she shrugged.

"A little bird wearing a trench coat,"Dean grumbled.

"If it makes you feel better, my sister's the living embodiment of a key to an interdimensional portal," Buffy stated empathetically, "Except, they made her from my DNA," she rolled her eyes in sheer frustration, "So, guess who had to jump into the portal as the blood sacrifice, and stop a primordial god and the ensuing Apocalypse…" Buffy realized she was rambling.

"Being the oldest's a bitch, ain't it?"

That almost made her snort.

"Amen to that," she agreed, lighting her face with a smile.

That's when Dean realized he was in trouble. Crap. This… this felt different. Normally, with a chick this attractive Dean was busting out his fake badges and his best pickup lines. But, Buffy, this was… different. It was refreshing having someone onto which he could unload the drama of his very unorthodox life, and not have to explain that, by the way, every scary thing imaginable exists. There was something appealing to that. Except, he had sacred unattached drifter street cred to uphold here. This was bad. It was about then that he noticed her lips moving, but he had not heard a word she had said.

"What?"

"I'm sorry… am I boring you?" She smirked.

Dean flashed his infamous smug smile, "Well, to be honest, this isn't the most exciting thing that's happened today."

"True. I mean, really, what could possibly follow Spike without his shirt on?"

"You know I am not above hitting a girl," Dean reminded, "Especially one that can take a punch like a champ."

"I'd like to see you try, hot shot."

A fake to the left did not trick Buffy, and she blocked his swing from the right by ducking under, spinning around, and jabbing him in the kidney.

"I'll try to mind your _gents_ this time," She teased, shifting on her feet from left to right, and throwing a punch into his diaphragm.

It was like getting hit by a truck. Dean went collapsing towards the floor, but he managed to sweep a kick and knock her legs out from underneath her. Compensating before she even hit the floor, Buffy sprung backwards into a full handspring, and landed flat a few feet away. Circling her cautiously, Dean's eyes bounced to anticipate her next move. It was futile—the amulet made her insufferably fast. A few more dodged swings, and Dean was panting.

"Had enough yet?" she winked.

"Just getting started, Darlin'" He replied, giving her a devilish grin.

Charging at her, Dean collided hard against her head first, wrapping his arms around her waist and taking her to the ground like a linebacker. That succeeded in knocking the wind from her chest, and some part of him felt satisfied with that much.

"Still human then," He declared, pulling his face up to gloat.

As she struggled to regain her bearings, the scent of Dean Winchester consumed her. His fragrance was a strangely intoxicating mix of gun powder and aftershave, and just the slightest hint of motor oil. This was the last thing she needed right now—especially considering her two ex-boyfriends were in town… yeah, Dean was going to love that when he found out. But… then again, she could not help noticing that for all his rough edges, something about his lips seemed soft. Not to mention that alluring look in his green eyes. ... Were those freckles? Oh dear god, the boy had freckles.

Dean, on the other hand, could not help but notice how rockin' her cleavage was in such close proximity to his face.

Had Buffy been privy to Dean's thoughts at that moment, she might not have made this her next move. Taking a risk, especially on a guy she had just met last night-if you could call a shot in the groin an introduction- Buffy drew up and met his smirking lips. What the hell, right? Lilith was coming, and she could die at any minute. Eventually, she was going to stop getting i"get out of jail free"/i cards on that. Immediately, she felt stupid and regretted this decision, and every rational part of her brain was screaming bABORT!/b Yet, he just went with it, and because of that, Buffy allowed herself the simple pleasure of enjoying this. In a pleasingly unexpected way, Dean's kisses were gentle and sensual—not forceful like she had expected.

"Am I interrupting?" Castiel's voice echoed around them in the empty metal box of the warehouse.

Slowly, Dean lifted his head in disbelief, frustration toning his voice, "You're killing me, Cas!"

"Pardon me, Dean," Castiel frowned, retorting flatly, "Let me apologize for ruining your pre-marital coitus while the Apocalypse erupts around you."

"Aaaaand," Buffy announced, trying to slide out from under Dean, "The moment is gone."


	10. Chapter Nine

Despite the fact that all they had done was some pretty PG-13 kissing, Buffy was mortified. Offering his hand, Dean helped her climb to her feet, but she could not meet his eyes, or Castiel's.

"This is worse than getting caught by your parents…" Buffy mumbled.

"Actually, it should alleviate your embarrassment to know that we are always watching," Castiel responded in his ever-so-ineffective way of showing consolation.

Both Buffy and Dean cringed at the thought.

"Not better," Dean sighed and shook his head.

"Is there something in particular you want?" Buffy inquired just to change the subject.

"I'm here so you may have a worthy foe against which you can properly assess the potential of the amulet."

"What? You think she was holding back, or something?" Dean snorted.

"Shelf your pride for a moment, Dean. I assure you, if she had not shown restraint, you would be a smear on this concrete."

"Were you taking it easy on me?" Dean asked, a little disappointed.

She merely shrugged, "… define restraint."

"Don't feel ashamed Dean," Castiel attempted to provide a bit of solace, "Your fragile human form is weak, and is not designed for this type—"

"Alright, I get it!" Dean threw up his hands walking to the side.

Turning towards Buffy, Castiel nodded.

"Buffy, do not be afraid to unleash the full extent of your enhanced abilities—I will heal."

"Um…what about me?" her eyes were wide with concern.

"In the event I should cause a life endangering injury, I promise that I will heal you immediately."

"Color me reassured," she smirked.

Producing his angel sword, Casiel brandished it ominously.

"What the hell is that for?" She gasped.

"For authenticity."

"Are you kid—"

But, Buffy could not finish her last question before the sword sliced dangerously close to her chest. Only just dodging the blade, she realized she would have much less time to react. Castiel was much, much faster. She could not so accurately predict his movements like she had been able to do with Dean. A swipe at her throat sent her careening backwards, crashing to her knees as she slid. When the sword slashed downward she was able to somersault away, but not cleanly. Slinging her by the arm he had been able to snatch, she went flying across the room into a heap of rusted out shelving units.

"Cas! That's enough!" Dean shouted, breaking towards the downed Buffy.

Pushing him out of the way, Castiel used his powers to pin him against a support column.

"I am well aware of what I am doing. She can handle this." His voice was unnervingly calm despite the circumstances.

Stepping slowly up to Buffy, who was bleeding from the forehead and the dorsal side of her hand, he leaned over her to speak, "Perhaps you're not properly motivated," and, he paused thoughtfully, "Try this."

Gently tapping her forehead with his middle and index fingers, her eyes shut abruptly. When they hesitantly reopened, she was no longer in the warehouse, nor did she have any memory of ever being there. She was standing in the chamber with the Seed of all Magic. But, she was not alone. Bathed in foul, red light emitting from the seed, the edges of Angel's face were sharp and menacing. Seizing her by the hair, he snapped her backwards. From her periphery, she could just make out the broken shape of Giles body, still and quiet on the floor.

The force in which Buffy connected with Castiel's midsection sent him sailing across the warehouse. Landing fiercely on an old conveyor belt, the dilapidated structure collapsed upon impact. Having fallen loose from his grip, Castiel's sword rolled to a stop at Buffy's feet. She kicked it away, the force of which stabbed it into the corrugated aluminum wall, like it had been impaled by a gale force wind. Then, made lightning fast by her amulet, Buffy disappeared into the shadows. Astonished, and left impotent to stop them, Dean struggled against the invisible restraints that bound him.

"God damn it, Cas! You proved your point!" he shouted, helpless to do much else, "What the hell did you do to her?"

Castiel's eyes darted around in anticipation, and he turned slowly in a circle, "She is relieving her most fearful memory—she was not strong enough to stop her adversary, resulting in the death of her Watcher."

"What?" Dean shouted, "That's barbaric. Make it stop!"

Already emerging from the dark, Buffy jumped Castiel from behind, toppling with him across the floor. Drawing herself up, she pulled a stake from the waist of her jeans, aiming directly for Castiel's heart—one that to her eyes belonged to Angel.

Castiel disappeared, reappearing a few feet away as Buffy crashed down onto the floor. When their eyes met again, she leapt into the air catching a low hanging support brace, and sent a swinging kick directly to his face. Tumbling backwards, Castiel rolled to his feet, and braced himself. As he stood she was upon him, spinning into a pirouette, connecting with his jawbone in a satisfying crack. He responded by using his Angel abilities to throw her into some manufacturing assembly equipment.

Bleeding, heaving, and absolutely pissed, Buffy watched as Angel staggered towards her, fangs bared and grinning through bloody stained teeth. Just a dozen steps away, Buffy exploded from the ground like a missile, gliding through the open space between them. She grasped Angel's neck, and the pair slammed against the concrete like a meteor strike. Waves of energy reverberated against the walls, shaking Dean.

Weakened from the concussion, Castiel's hold on Dean waned, and he broke towards them. Murderous rage in her eyes, Buffy lifted the stake she still clutched, prepared to finally dispatch Angel, when he reached up and tapped the space between her eyes. In the blink of an eye, Buffy was crouched in a small crater of shattered concrete, a broken and bloody Castiel laid out before her.

"Where did I go just now?" she asked, hesitantly standing to establish her surroundings- to identify exactly which reality she was experiencing.

The movement of the chain across her next sent her back into defense mode, as if she registered it as a threat, but Dean was already slipping it over her head. As it lifted from her skin he noticed a physical change in her stature. It was as if she withered, and her body could no longer support its own weight. Buckling at the knees, Dean managed to catch her by the waist.

"Are you satisfied?" Dean growled, tapping Buffy's cheek as her eyes rolled, eyelids fluttering.

"With the power of the potentials fueling that amulet, it will allow her to match even the most elder demons that hell may—"

"Would you just fix her?" Dean barked.

A shudder passed over her body as Castiel touched her cheek, the cuts and blemishes vanishing instantaneously. But, while her wounds had been mended, she did not come around.

"The Slayer may seem impregnable while wearing the amulet, but once removed it places immense stress on the body. It will take her some time to become accustomed to the strain that accompanies it."

"But, she'll be okay, right?"

"She requires rest, Dean," Castiel seemed exasperated at his tone, "but, I must return and share the results of our trial run."

"She isn't a science fair project!" Dean spat, testing her responsiveness as he cradled Buffy's crumpled form, "But, I forget... to you bastards, we're just a giant fucking ant farm, aren't we?"

Turning back to glare at Castiel, he was already gone, and Dean just shook his head. Propping her up with his left arm, he lifted her legs with his right. Carrying her fireman style to the car, his anger just festered in the quiet aftermath of what he had just witnessed. He was well beyond tired of being a game piece on the board of their infinite dick measuring contest. Laying her across the back seat, Dean slid his navy blue jacket off his shoulders, blanketing it over her back. Her head turned slightly, and he noticed she buried her face into the collar, inhaling in the scent embedded into the worn fabric. Unable to help himself, he brushed a few blond strands out of her eyes and behind her ear. Momentarily, the rage in him managed to subside. Something bloomed in his chest like a warm burst, and a small smile split his lips, but was just as quickly replaced with alarming frown. Sliding quickly out of the back seat, he shoved the door shut forcefully, and ran his hand down his face.

"Damn it… get it together, Dean."


	11. Chapter Ten

The letters on the page were blurring together, forming words that had not originally been printed in those pages. It was Ruby—finding a way to manipulate him from through the connection they had formed through her blood. Until he finally got the courage to plunge that knife into her chest, to watch the crackle of energy arc through her eyes as the spark left them, she would live inside his head. He raked his hand through his hair, and re-read the same passage for the third time.

_… until the end of the 5__th__ Century A.D. little was known concerning the cage __**STOP FIGHTING THIS**__ that held Lucifer…_

Blinking and rubbing his eyes, the words once again resembled their proper text.

"This doesn't make any damn sense!" Bobby dropped the book on the table, and returned to pacing around the dining room.

The commotion roused Spike who had fallen asleep, head on his hands, face down in an open book. No one had bothered to wake him considering it meant that he was not whining about how unappreciated he was.

"I know, right?" Willow agreed, "Look at this."

Fingers holding the words down on the page to save Bobby the trouble of searching them out, she slid the book towards where he stood next to the table. But, while Bobby processed the passage Willow had marked, Willow's eyes drifted towards Sam. That look in his eyes—oh shit, she knew that look. That look was trouble on fire. She studied the signs to confirm her assumption. Sweat glistened on his forehead just enough to make his skin shine, and there was a slight shake in his hand as he turned the page.

_… the seals were __**YOU DON"T FOOL ME, SAMMY**__ established over the centuries one by __**YOU'RE DYING OF THIRST**__ one, but…_

Clenching his fist, and working his fingers in frustration, Sam was clearly losing this battle.

"You don't look so good, Mate," Spike commented also observing Sam's deterioration.

"I'm just tired."

But, Willow was not buying that line.

"If the order in which the seals are broken doesn't matter, why wouldn't Lilith go for the Slayer in the prelims instead of waiting until the playoffs?" Bobby asked having finished the page, "Why not get the amulet from the get go- slip your human suit right off the bat? Seems like it would make it a hell of a lot easier."

"Exactly," Willow bounced back into the conversation, "Why would she wait until she had less than ten seals to break?"

While she spoke to Bobby, her eyes were still pinned to Sam, watching him twitch. This was a pretty heavy revelation they had stumbled upon, and it had to be important—yet, Sam seemed pretty oblivious to anything they were saying.

_… many of the seals came to be as the results of __**COME FIND ME**__ inhuman acts committed by…_

"All this reading is draining my brain. I need fuel—who's hungry?" Willow announced, "Sam!"

The mention of his name was like a firecracker, and he snapped to attention.

"Will you please help me in the kitchen?" Willow requested.

"What? Yeah, sure…" he answered despite being unaware of what she had actually asked, responding merely out of habit.

"Great, come with me," she announced, fingers wrapping around his forearm in a death grip, dragging him along into the adjacent room.

Just the movement from the chair to the kitchen left him requiring the aid of the island just to stand. Head pounding, tongue parched and sticking the rough of his mouth, he worried about how much longer he was going to remain vertical, let alone keep up the appearance that nothing was wrong.

"What's your poison?" Willow asked reproachfully.

"Sorry?" Sam feigned confusion, or maybe, he really was- honestly, he didn't know anymore, "I don't follow."

"I recognize withdrawal when I see it, Sam."

"Like I said, I'm just tired," He lied.

"Oh, drop the act, De Niro," Willow scoffed, "Trust me, I have a lot of experience in this department."

Nervously, Sam scratched at the back of his neck, reluctant to say anything incriminating, but he knew it was a matter of time. Really, how long was he going to be able to keep this up?

"No offense, Willow, but while I appreciate the sentiment, I really doubt you've dealt with this level of detox."

"Look, I know that our lives aren't mainstream. It wasn't like I was shooting up or popping pills. I was addicted to magic."

"Yeah, but did you're addiction hurt anyone but you? Did it turn you into a monster?"

Willow narrowed her eyes, agitated at his tone, "Actually, I lost the love of my life because I couldn't get a grip. I chose magic over her, and she left. And then, just when I thought she'd come back to me… I lost her forever because some wannabe supervillain put a bullet in her heart," Willow's voice turned solemn and shameful with burden, "After that, I went on a bender so dark that I hunted down her killer, and flayed him… alive. But I couldn't stop. Little ol' me, formerly invisible nerd Willow- I almost burned the world. So, don't stand here and pretend like you have the monopoly on suffering."

"You're right. I'm sorry," Sam replied, remorseful of his comment, and he simply answered, "…demon blood."

"Damn son!" Willow exclaimed, "Which means that you're—"

"—part demon," Sam finished her sentence.

"What about Dean?"

"No… just me. I'm the lucky winner of that lottery. Guess I'm just _special_," Sam sneered at the words used so many times by Ruby and Azazel, "When I drink, it strengthens my abilities."

"And, that's how you plan to kill Lilith?"

"I did at first. Hell, it made a lot of sense—like Buffy said, take this curse and use it for something good, but…" another tremor struck him, this time pulsing through his entire body, and Willow took his hand to steady him, "…but, I can't control it anymore. I'm terrified that I'll end up crossing a line I can't come back from. I don't even feel human anymore."

"How long since your last fix?"

"Thirteen days."

"Well then, this should help."

Turning his hand over, she whispered an incantation and drew symbols on his upturned palm. A light blue light generated from the markings she drew, and a wave of relief washed over Sam. The shaking ceased, and the fog clouding his mind lifted. In an instant she had dulled the serrated edge left from starving his addiction.

"Thanks," He sighed, having finally found a respite, "You've got to teach me that trick."

"It's easy," Willow waved her hand as if it was nothing, smiling she said, "Circle, circle, dot, dot…"

Sam laughed for what had to be the first time in a week. But, it did not last long. A buzzing in his pocket alerted him that he had a text from Dean.

"It's Dean, something's wrong," Sam read the message aloud, "Get the door—hands full."

"Of what?" Willow's eyes went wide, and they hastily exited the kitchen.

Footsteps pounded on the exterior stairs as Sam swung open the door. Still unconscious, Dean carried Buffy through the door.

"Bedroom?" Dean asked impatiently.

"This way," Willow beckoned to follow her.

In the last room at the end of the hall, Dean laid Buffy gently onto her bed as the others filed in one by one to get answers to their questions, one perhaps more determined than the others. As Dean's hands slid out from under Buffy, stepping away from the bed, he felt hands jerk his jacket. The photo frames rattled on the wall, a few falling as Spike slammed Dean against the lavender painted wall of Buffy's bedroom, forearm pressing against his neck.

"_She's in good hands_," Spike barked Dean's words back to him, face already the contorted into the vicious snarl of his vampire form, "What the bloody hell happened?"

"You're gonna want to back it up, White Wedding," Dean answered calmly, voice low.

"Let him go, Spike," Willow yanked at Spike's shoulders.

"Not until he answers my question," Spike pressed harder against his windpipe, "What did this?"

"The amulet," Dean fought the urge to choke, oxygen slightly deprived from his lungs, "The minute it came off she dropped like a brick."

Spike released a bit on the pressure, "Is she gonna need a doctor?"

"She just needs sleep," Dean broke from his hold, pushing Spike in the chest, "I need your ugly mug outta my face."

Their shoulders smacked as Spike let Dean pass. Bobby and Sam followed him down the hall.

"I guess it works then?" Bobby inquired.

"A little too good if you ask me," Dean dropped onto the couch, head in his hands, "She went from zero to incredible hulk in the span of a second. Cas said the amulet drains the wearer at first, and she would have to adjust to it… but, were don't have that kinda time, and I'm worried the amount of power she would need to tap to get in the ring with Lilith might just kill her."

"Are you saying we don't use it?" Sam asked incredulously.

"I'm saying I think we need a plan B, just in case."


	12. Chapter Eleven

A/N: My apologies for the extreme delay in any semblance of an update. My excuses are as follows- a) a wrote myself into a corner I had to fight my way out of, and b) the end of the semester ate my life. But, I am now on a two week break of which I plan to take full advantage. And, the bright side of having writer's block allowed my to turn back to Supernatural for more inspiration, allowing me to finally get fully caught up with the current season- which turned out to be exactly what I needed since "As Time Goes By" completely solved my problem. So, with much anticipation, here is the next installment. I have the next few chapters outlined, so here is hoping the updates will be less sporadic for the next few weeks.

* * *

A sinking feeling in Bobby's gut said that his suspicions about Lilith's designs for the amulet were worth following. Agreeing with Bobby's assessment, Willow dug deep into Giles' Watcher Journal collection to comb through the notes of Amelia's Watcher. There was bound to be something in there that might explain why Lilith had not made her move earlier, or any ulterior motive she might have, such as an ability of the amulet that none of them had known. The hours passed, day darkening into night as they delved into the history of the first record breaking Slayer and her infamous amulet… and still, Buffy slept.

While he assisted in a digital capacity as much as possible, Sam's thoughts were still lingering on the conversation he and Willow had earlier. Normally, Sam and Dean had a burn at the stake first, ask questions later approach with witches. Despite losing control, letting her darkness and angst consume her, she still found a way back from the ragged edge. She could manage her condition, and her abilities played a vital role in the Slayer's work. Knowing this made him reconsider harnessing his own darkness for the greater good—if he could only get Dean on his side. Sam had lost track of time, only noticing the time after his stomach growled from neglect… and still, Buffy slept.

Darkness waned, and night relented to the early glow of morning. A pounding on the door erupted sometime after 5:30 a.m., and in a flurry of greetings and luggage and hugs, Dawn and Xander swept in. Immediately, Xander joined those around the table with books, and Dawn insisted on sitting with Buffy until she woke up, or at least showed some sign of life… but still, Buffy slept.

The only ones in the apartment who had not found some form of useful employment were Dean and Spike. Unless, you count their posturing towards each other and rotating between sitting and pacing. Occasionally, Spike would disappear, and then reappear some time later smelling of smoke. But, after seventeen hours of waiting, Buffy had not so much as stirred. Dean needed two things: to get out of the apartment, and a trench-coated ass to chew.

Taking walks were not exactly Dean Winchester's preferred method of venting stress, as it lacked violence and bloodshed of monsters. He left wallowing in his emotions and deep thoughts to chicks, and Sam. But, the pace his mind was racing was exhausting, and regardless of the cold, he needed fresh air. Against all reason that he could surmise, just being near Buffy in distress felt like a boot on his throat. The more he tried to rationalize his discomfort concerning Buffy, or on the even stranger other hand, his unexpected comfort he found so easily with her, the more he came up with questions without answers. And, the only person who might have answers did not have his voicemail set up for incoming prayers. After several laps around the adjacent blocks, he ended up on a bench at a nearby playground just as the warm burn of dawn was singeing the sky.

"Don't be too hard on Cas. He was summoned," a female voice spoke from over his shoulder, "That's why he bailed."

"Anna?" Dean asked rather astonished, pivoting in his seat to confirm he was not imagining her voice, "You know where Cas is?"

"Yes, and it's not with the angels…" She approached, taking a seat next to him on the bench, "Something feels wrong to you, doesn't it? Like a piece is missing from your life, and you can't quite place it. Well, you're absolutely right. This is not your fate, Dean… or Buffy's. They royally messed everything up, and now it's spiraling out of their control."

"Alright, not that I'm not happy somebody came when I called, but you seriously need to uncryptic your bullshit."

"Don't you think if Zachariah and the angels wanted to stop the Apocalypse they could find a way to manage that without the help of a couple of humans? Zachariah doesn't want to stop the Apocalypse Dean—he's the man behind the curtain! They're tired of waiting around for God to get his act together, of watching humans exercise their free will, of the demon menace running rampant… So, what are some senior ranking angels to do but derail enough fates until they find the right path to jump starting Armageddeon?"

"Whoa, okay, I'm gonna stop you right there," Dean held up his hand for emphasis, "Because, I just want to make sure my crazy translator is working right, and go back to the part where you basically said I'm living in an alternate universe."

"Oh, it's the right universe, you're just walking the wrong path—you, and your entire family," Anna could read his face, and see his patience was wearing thin, "You're not meant to be the sword of Michael and Buffy is not meant to be the ninth seal. You and Buffy weren't meant to stop the Apocalypse, Dean."

"All this destiny crap Zachariah has been shoving down my throat, you're saying it's just an elaborate lie? I wasn't supposed to start the Apocalypse? I'm not the only person who can end it?"

"There was never supposed to have been an Apocalypse," She stated boldly, "The cheat code to the end times had one lynch pin—you could never meet Buffy Summers. By not meeting Buffy at the predestined time, it set both your lives, and the lives of you present and past family members onto counter paths. A dozen fates disrupted because they denied you one of the most important moments of what should have been your life."

"And, why was it so important that I met the Vampire Slayer?"

"Because, it was destined that together Buffy Summers and Dean Winchester would rid the world of all demons and seal them in hell forever."

"Anna, you losing me now," Dean stepped away from the bench in frustration, "because I don't know which is more ridiculous—that you're saying ridding the world of demons is even possible, or that I was supposed to do it with _my soulmate_."

"If calling her that makes it easier to understand, then fine, call it what you want," Anna's voice was stern and solid, "But that connection, your trying like hell to ignore—the one that's unnerved you since you met her, makes you tell her things you wouldn't tell you brother, pains you at the thought she won't wake up— that's a ripple. It's a side effect of an altered past. You can push it away all you like, but it won't change the fact the two of you are tethered."

"_Tethered_…" Dean scoffed sarcastically, as if their term for his predicament made it sound better, "… a hunter and a vampire slayer. Why me? What makes me such a god damned important hunter that the slayer would need my help?"

"You were never meant to be a hunter, Dean. There is so much you've been denied because of one missed moment…"

Anger was boiling up inside him to the point he just wanted to hit something. Nothing made any kind of damn sense. Whatever Anna was rambling about had to be nonsense. How could his life not really be his life?

"Then how much did Dickariah jack up just to be king of the hill?"

"I honestly can't tell you, because we may never really know, but I can tell you that it at least goes back to your grandparents, on both sides."

"That's impossible!" he argued, "How can it effect the past that happened before I was even born? This is completely insane, Anna."

"Why don't I just show you?" Castiel's deep voice echoed through the playground.

Turning towards the sound of his voice, Dean barely had time to focus his eyes before Castiel was touching his forehead, and the entire world faded into another reality. Castiel caught Dean as he fell, laying him on the ground as Anna stepped towards them.

"It was not your place... it was too much too fast. You left me no choice but to show him what should have been... and, what good will that do, Anna? If the Moirae can't repair the altered destinies, knowing will just make it worse," Castiel sighed, affronted by her audacity.

"He deserves to know. Both Buffy and Dean have sacrificed so much on this path... to never know that they were each others reward for a life spent in the cause of fighting evil, that's just cruel."

"No Anna, to give them a taste of happiness neither may never achieve is the truly cruel act."


	13. Chapter Twelve

A/N: MASSIVE UPDATE! But, I'm going to warn you- you're either going to love this, or hate this with the passion and fury of a thousands burning suns. I can't imagine there being a middle ground with the way I wholly transmogrified the canon of these two shows. So, proceed with caution. lol. I will say that I am awed at my own magnificence on this one- seriously, I deserve a cookie. And, for those of you who are all like "Um... what happened to Angel and Spike?"... yeah, yeah, I'm getting to that...

PS: This was edited pretty hastily, as it literally took me ALL DAMN DAY (not in any way kidding), and THEN SOME to fit everything in. I'll give this a re-read and, as I'm sure a re-edit as needed in the morning. I just can't wait to post this!

* * *

It was like a lucid dream. Events that he had already lived through, that had occurred in the distant past, and things that were yet to come, all unfolding in real time like he was watching it projected in 3D. Dean found himself standing in the middle of unfamiliar life, but despite the foreignness, it felt honest… it felt right.

The strangest thing was that here in this alternative universe, or whatever the hell this was, the Winchesters were not hunters—they were _scholars_. The Winchester blood line had for quite some time been initiated into something called the _Order of the Letters_. It was a secret society tasked with recording the knowledge of the ancients—of lore, mythology, demonology, and all manner of darkness that humanity assumed to be make believe. But, the Men of Letters did not take this knowledge and use it to stop the darkness from spreading. In fact, they barely shared this information with anyone, save a few elite hunters, those who had been gradually incorporated into the Order for such events that intervention was necessary—such as the Slayer.

The _Acts of Azazel_, as they would later be deemed, was one instance in which the Order found it necessary to intervene, especially when it was uncovered that it directly affected the youngest son of John Winchester. Targeted by the demon who was bent on creating a half-demon legion that would unleash Lucifer from his cage, Sam would have been cursed by the blood of Azazel. But, the knowledge and foresight the Order possessed cut Azazel down before he could harm Sam. It was not Dean Winchester that killed _Old Yellow Eyes _ with a bullet from the Colt, but rather a hunter who had proven his salt to the Order, earning a place as one of their few established hunters—Bobby Singer.

Sam was never cursed, never being stabbed by Jake in Azazel's game of survival of the fittest. Dean never forfeited his own soul to resurrect his brother. And, since Mary Winchester never died, the boys were never in the car accident on their hunt for Azazel which forced John's hand, selling his soul to save his oldest son's life. Which is why when the dream skipped several years into the future, and Henry Winchester jumped from the year 1958 to 2013 to escape Abaddon, his son was alive.

"John, this is the key to all the knowledge we have ever accumulated. Should it fall into the wrong hands, should it be lost… the Order will perish," Henry declared pressing the key into the hand of his adult son, who he had tucked into bed as a child just hours before, "You must keep it hidden from those who seek to destroy us."

Called upon again, Bobby sank a bullet from the Colt into the heart of Abaddon, and John was able to recreate the spell that had brought Henry into the future, returning him to the past, and ensuring John was brought up in the Order. The powerful realization hit Dean that in his current timeline, that was still going to happen—Henry was going to arrive in 2013 and John Winchester would not be there to send him back. He was going to remain there, because in Dean's timeline the Order of Letters ceased to exist. All those years… his father believed that Henry had simply bailed on them.

Dressed in a sharp, new suit, Dean walked through a set of double doors into a room with mahogany trim and blue velvet drapes. Men in robes lined the room, and he walked towards his grandfather who sat in a high backed chair at the end of the room. Standing directly behind Henry by an altar of candles, was his father.

"Dean Winchester," Henry spoke as Dean kneeled before him, "Within your veins runs the blood of a legacy. One in a long line of ancestors who were charged with the duty of ensuring the survival of the wisdom of the ancients. Now, this knowledge has been passed unto you," Henry held up a pin impressed with an Aquarian Star, "By accepting this pin, you accept that charge, and promise to uphold the responsibility of keeping this wisdom alive to pass to the next generation. Do you swear to do everything within your ability fulfill this duty?"

Extending his hand, Henry placed the pin into his open palm, touching the Aquarian Star with his fingers.

"I, Dean Winchester," he began, reciting the words like it had been burned into his brain, "accept this duty, and promise to do whatever is deemed necessary to ensure its keeping."

The room dissolved and reformed as a library, empty save the Winchester brothers, who sat reading at a large table in the center which was covered in scattered books. Sam passed by Dean on his way back to the shelf, his eyes catching on the pages of Dean's book—another volume on Slayer history. Sensing eyes over his shoulder, Dean turned towards Sam.

"You have got to stop doing this to yourself," Sam chastised, trying to take the book away, "When are you going to realize that what we do here is important."

"Maybe your content to be some dusty old librarian, but I don't fit in here. I'm just the great disappointment," Dean slammed the book shut in frustration, "I just don't understand the point of having all this knowledge if you're not going to do something with it?"

"It's not our job to shed blood, Dean—"

"Does Dad program this stuff into your head," Dean rolled his eyes, "or, Pops?"

"I don't need to be programmed to know they're right. We don't hunt! We provide information where and when it's necessary. Without us, hunters would be out there fighting blind. How many times has the Order prevented the unthinkable? Look at me- I'd be hell spawn right now if it wasn't for the work we do here."

"And, who really stopped that, Sam? It wasn't a Man of Letters who put a bullet in Azazel—it was a hunter." Dean dropped the book on the table.

When Sam opened his mouth to retort, Dean just raised his hand in protest, "I'm tired of this conversation, Sammy."

As Dean turned his back on his brother and left the library, John stepped in to the room, picking up the discarded book and flipping through the pages.

"He's right—he's not cut out for this," John sighed, "But, I hardly think of him as a disappointment."

"Maybe you should tell him that…" Sam sunk into a chair next to his father, "He's not going to be happy until you let him go to England."

"I know, Sam," John agreed, "I know."

The Slayer predated the Order as far back as the days when mankind was still confined to the borders of Africa. As quickly as Lucifer had twisted the soul of Lilith to make the first demon, the prehistoric shaman had seized upon that darkness to create the first Slayer to combat the evils that Lucifer unleashed. Merging together centuries ago, the Slayer, had come under the jurisdiction of the Order of the Letters. Called the Slayer Initiative, the Men of Letters had formed a special council that would guide and train called Slayers. In England, this _Council _had undertaken the task of training called Slayers, hoping that to blend the fury of the Slayer with wisdom of the Men of Letters, and create a truly awesome opponent to fight the forces of darkness.

As easily as Sam had taken to the scholarship of the Order, Dean had taken to Watcher training. There he learned lore alongside combat styles and attack strategies, and by the end of his academic training, he was the head of his class. To put his training to practice, he was sent to shadow the Watcher of the most accomplished Slayer in history—Rupert Giles.

"Dean Winchester," Giles announced as Buffy entered The Magic Box, "meet Buffy Summers."

"Another intern?" Buffy scoffed, "I hope he lasts longer than that Wesley guy."

"Oh, don't worry about me, Darlin'—" Dean flashed that infamous cocky grin, "I'm just here to see whether or not you live up to hype."

Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped up to look him in the eyes. Despite the near foot height difference, he still found her a little imposing.

"It's all true—ask any Big Bad. Just the mention of my name bleaches the blood of the wicked," she smirked, raising an eyebrow, "If you really wanted to see me in action-" she said brushing past him, continuing flippantly"-you should have been here for the last Apocalypse."

"What Apocalypse?" He snickered, turning his head to follow her, as well as check her out from behind.

Throwing a passing glance over her shoulder as she continued to the gym, she smiled and winked, "Exactly."

"Don't worry," Giles added, "It's when she doesn't tease you that you know she doesn't like you."

Being in the trenches had a satisfying appeal. Being a Watcher entailed much more action than he expected, and much more to do with hunting. Giles reminded him of a British Sam, but with a certain aura of his own fierceness, glad to take up arms with Buffy. And, Buffy… well, Buffy was just god damned distracting.

* * *

This life, Buffy thought, was both surreal and harshly unfair. Much of her life up to the arrival of Dean Winchester had been essentially the same as she knew it before—with two important distinctions. Thanks to the resources provided by the Order, Buffy had prior knowledge of Angelus, and that insight prevented her from ever entering a relationship with him. When Spike and Drusilla found a way to turn him, and awake Acathla, she never even hesitated to sink the sword into his heart. Knowing the anguish it had put her through to have done it her own timeline, the placid look she wore as she closed the portal practically turned her stomach. Perhaps the only good result of keeping Angel at a distance was that two lives had been spared as a result of his demise—Jenny Calendar and later, Giles. And now, in this reality, the two of them were happily together, married and running The Magic Box. Meanwhile, Buffy was forming an important partnership of her own.

"I had a thought, Buffy," Giles mentioned casually one day during training, "I'm sure you are aware that the end of Dean's shadowing is drawing near…"

"Oh, really?" Buffy replied between strikes, failing at appearing non-chalant, as if she hadn't been counting down the days with dread, "It hadn't even crossed my mind."

"Yes, which is unfortunate, because I believe Dean's become an integral part of the team."

"I'd call him a vital Scoobie… if you ask me, I mean."

"With that being said, how would you feel if I requested that he stay here in Sunnydale, indefinitely? Or, at least, as long as the Council can spare him?"

"I would have no reason to object, Giles," Buffy replied, shrugging her shoulders, if only to release some form of energy that was not jumping or dancing.

"Now, I couldn't promise they would agree—in fact, my previous experience with them leads me to believe they will not allow it, for some ridiculous reason or another, but if I could convince them it was for the good of the Slayer—"

"Well, why are we wasting time training?" Buffy asked, stepping away from the punching bag, and pushing Giles towards the door, unable to keep up the charade any longer, "Go get working on your lies!"

The rise of primordial god Glorificus gave the Order a reason to keep Dean close to Buffy. Having found a way to slip her prison, Glory had left a trail of bodies in search of _The Key_. With the threat of Glory eminent, the Order immediately commanded the Monks of Dagon to fashion The Key into a vessel that would allow it to be hidden in plain sight, and hopefully prevent Glory from capturing it. And, as Buffy knew all too well, that vessel (fashioned from Buffy's own flesh), became her sister Dawn. Commanded by the Order, Dean's new job was to protect Dawn. Although, it meant lying to Buffy to carry on the illusion that Dawn was, and always had been, her sister.

Glory was a god. She was more powerful than any Big Bad Buffy had ever battled, and when Glory abducted Dawn, Buffy broke, lapsing into catatonic shock. Dean convinced Willow to let him into Buffy's head thinking he might be able to coax her back to reality. Buffy's brain was a carousel of absurdity, and after looping through some false memories, Dean finally managed to connect with her on their fourth time through The Magic Shop. There watching herself approach the bookshelf, depositing the book she had offered to put back for Giles, she admitted a terrible secret.

"This… this is when I realized I can't beat her," Buffy sighed, and bookshelf Buffy finished her thought, "Glory is going to win."

Turning towards the Buffy standing at his side, Dean replied firmly, "If she wins, it's because you gave up. And all this," Dean drew a circle in the air with his finger, "This living in your head, feeling sorry for yourself, crap—this is giving up."

"You're right," she face him with tear rimmed eyes, "Just for a second, I quit. I wanted it to be over… I wanted to let her kill my sister… I… I killed my sister."

"That's what all this is about? News flash—Dawn's not dead! But, she will be if you stay in here, wallowing," He tipped her chin up with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his eyes, "Since you were fifteen years old you've been to sole obstacle between us and the end of the god damn world. For one second, you wanted that burden lifted, and who the hell could blame you? That doesn't make you a murderer—it proves you're just as human as the rest of us!" With his thumb, Dean brushed away a tear that had escaped and was trailing down her cheek, "But, you shook it off, Buffy. You decided you had to keep going, because you know you can't afford to think like that. You have a terrible privilege in this world. No one can do what you have to do. You're hell in a pair of stylish, yet affordable boots, Darlin'" he smiled, using one of her own lines against her, "And you're the only woman I know who would stand up to Death, and give him the finger. And that… that's why I love you, Buffy Summers."

Clinging to the thought of his lips pressing against hers, Buffy came back into focus. She had an overdue appointment with a hell bitch. But, while Buffy was beating Glory senseless with Hammer of Olaf, Dawn was still chained to the top of the tower, and Doc believed it was up to him to complete Glory's work. Thanks to Dean, the only blood spilled at sunrise was spray from the Colt bullet that ripped through Doc. The portal never opened, and Buffy never jumped.

Hers was not the only life saved due to an intervention on the part of Dean Winchester. When Warren showed up in the back yard, prepared to place a bullet in Buffy's brain, Dean stepped up putting one into Warren's first, preventing Tara from taking the ricochet in the heart, and Willow from her descent into darkness. In the battle against the First, Dean beheaded the demon that would have otherwise bisected Anya.

Together, Buffy and Dean were an unstoppable evil vanquishing machine. Their unison were incredible, and one always seemed to come through in the hitch for the other. Xander began to joke that when the Boogeyman went to bed, he checked his closet for Dean Winchester, and under his bed for Buffy Summers. There was a period where both of them were content and happy—from the outside looking into this bizzaro world, it was easy to imagine being happy with this life… as long as you had someone with whom you could share it. As long as there was someone whose arms you could fall into, and have them carry you through the rough parts until they could place you once again on solid ground. From the perspective of their own respective altered timelines, it was the closest either had ever imagined they could come to normalcy.

That is always just about the time the floor drops out, and they were no exception to the rule. From the moment Castiel appeared to Sam, delivering the terrified teenage prophet named Kevin Tran, clutching a stone tablet to his chest, their lives were placed in the rails careening towards their inevitable _purpose_.

"His name is Crowley," Castiel explained to a flabbergasted Sam, "and, he proclaims himself the king of hell."

"I thought Lucifer was the king of hell?" Sam questioned as he led Kevin to a chair to take him off his unsteady legs.

"Lucifer is caged, and while he remains imprisoned, Crowley runs hell as he deems fit," Castiel answered, voice laden with hopelessness, "He is desperate to possess the prophet and the Word of God," Castiel nodded towards Kevin and the tablet he held in a death grip, "And, is willing to do whatever is required to achieve his ends."

"But, why would you send him to me? I mean, you're angels! If you can't keep him safe, what I am supposed to do with him?" Sam protested.

"You are the only person this side of heaven knowledgeable enough to help him. Not even angels can read the tablet, and Kevin is newly called. He will have much to learn. Perhaps with your background, you can provide him a framework on which to fit the pieces together," Castiel could still read the skepticism in Sam's eyes, "I know the reputation of the Men of Letters, Sam Winchester. No one in heaven believes there is a safer place for the prophet than under their protection."

Deep in the Order's safest place, which they referred to as _The Bunker_, Sam and Kevin worked together for weeks decoding the hieroglyphics that concealed the Word of God. Finally, they uncovered that the tablet was the record of a very important spell—one that could seal the gates of hell, trapping every demon inside, forever.

"Three trials, put forth by God," Sam said into the phone to his brother, "Complete them, and you can slam the gates of hell permanently."

Suddenly, the dream warped like a movie screen wipe, like it was jumping straight to the end. Tossing Dean like a discarded paper towel, Crowley slammed him against the stone wall, holding him in place with his outstretched left hand, enclosing his fingers as if he were crushing Dean's windpipe. Her eyes locked with Crowley, Buffy could not see Dean, but she could hear the choking gasps of oxygen deprivation.

"I like to acknowledge talent when I see it," Crowley sneered, his right arm pressed against her, pinning her to the floor where he had knocked her, "So, just let me say, you're quite the worthy foe, Darling."

"Only Dean gets to call me that," she spat the blood in her mouth into his face.

Dean's weary body crashed to the floor, released only so that Crowley could use his hand to retrieve his handkerchief, opening it with a flick of his wrist and delicately wiping his face.

"You're fairytale is just about over, and I'm going to tell you a spoiler-" he leaned towards her ear to whisper, "-it ends bloody," he pulled back to tuck the blood smeared handkerchief into his pocket, "There is no happy ending for the Slayer, love, even if she wins the heart of a White Knight," he circled her, but the thrust of his hand kept her pinned to the floor, "Did you really believe could complete two trials, and actually manage to survive to reach the third? Tsk, tsk, Slayer. I expected more from the legendary Buffy Summers… Didn't the Ripper teach you to know your enemy?"

In the periphery of her sight, she could see that Dean had gained his bearings, and was managing to get to his feet. Apparently, he seemed to have forgotten about Dean. She had to keep Crowley focused on her—keep inciting his rage.

"My god," she moaned, either out of pain, or exhaustion of her patience, "You really like the sound of your own voice don't you? Is hell just being trapped in a room, having to listen to you monologue?"

"You have not even begun to conceive of what I have store for you in hell," he promised.

"That's going to quite an accomplishment," Buffy responded, unfazed by his threat, "considering the commute."

The second he heard the gun shot, Crowley's head lifted towards the sound, and the bullet drilled into his forehead just above the left eyebrow. It wouldn't kill him, but it would disengage the force holding her to the floor.

"…Because, the third trial is-," Buffy pushed up her sleeves revealing an Enochian sigil on each wrist, that would give her the power to "… bring forth the king of hell for judgment in heaven."

Pressing her palm against Crowley's head, she began an Enochain incantation. Crowley attempted to react, only to find he could not move.

"Clever, clever—a Devil's Trap carved into a bullet. Aren't we the head of the class?" he continued despite her recitation, whispering as he met her eyes for the last time, "Guess it's a good thing I don't need my hands to snap Dean's neck."

Upon his words, her stomach dropped. She was almost done—Buffy knew she could not stop. Only just a few more words, but in that split second before Crowley exploded in a burst of pure white light, Buffy heard the devastating crack of Dean's neck vertebrae. Unable to bring herself to turn, she merely just sank to her knees, shaking, and whispered the final spell to end the third trial. Appearing just off to her right side, she could see the tails of Castiel's tan trench coat.

"In passing all three trials put forth by God, Buffy Summers, you have proven yourself a righteous enough soul to seal the Gates of Hell eternally," Castiel bent down on one knee, placed his hand on her head, "A pure and righteous soul is an extremely powerful thing, and as I am sure you've become aware… a spell of this magnitude does not come without a price."

Weakly, she just nodded, accepting this as her fate. Taking one knee, Castiel bent down and placed his hand on her forehead. Wherever Dean had gone, she knew she was about to follow.

* * *

Suddenly becoming aware that the other had even been present, Dean and Buffy glanced at each other. At some point, they had unconsciously taken each other's hand, fingers interlaced together. Neither said anything to the other—what was there to say? What was there to even think about other than the obviously painful realization that the only they had ever come back through the veil was to make sure they served their intended purpose. Two bodies, their corpses, laid out in the scene before them, and they knew. Only Dean could help Buffy complete the trials, having accepted this duty to the Order. He promised to do whatever was deemed necessary to ensure its keeping—or in other words, as the Slayer was part of the Order, to ensure Buffy's safe keeping. And, Buffy, the most feared and accomplished Slayer in history, had to sacrifice her soul to rid the world of Evil. Yes, they had to die—but… only at the appropriate time.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

A/N: Thanks again to aforestgrew for the Community add.

* * *

"Dean!"

In a shocked gasp, Buffy jolted awake calling out to him as they were ripped apart and thrown back into consciousness. Her breath was staggered and heavy. Eyes searching the room, she found only her little sister present. Dawn moved from her chair to take a seat at the edge of the bed.

"Buffy, it's alright, just relax," she comforted her older sister, brushing sweat soaked hair from her cheeks, and shouted towards the dining room, "Guys, she's awake."

Still very shaken, she attempted to establish her reality from the one which she had just been violently ejected. The lingering memories and feelings attached to them left a hollow longing in her stomach. Reeling and just a bit nauseous, she struggled to distinguish what was real and what had not come to pass. No matter how honest it felt, none of that had ever happened—she told herself that she could not cling to what she had seen. The Angels had changed so much with just that moment missing from their lives, and the result was the uncontrolled spinout of her life and those she held most dear- all who had been taken due to their actions. Footfalls from the living room gave way to a pile of frantic people trying to push through the door frame.

"How long have been out?" Buffy managed, voice gravelly and deep from sleep.

"Nineteen hours," Bobby said glancing at his watch.

"You were starting to scare the hell out of us," Willow added, taking a seat on the chair that Dawn had just left.

"The amulet… where is it?" her eyes still scanning the room for the one face she did not see, "Where's Dean?"

"The amulet's safe—Willow hid it in a parallel plain for now where no Angels or Demons could find it," Xander assured.

"As for the Idjit," Bobby spoke answering the second part of her question, "He was gettin' restless, and left a couple of hours ago."

"I'll give him a call," Sam stated pulling out his cell phone.

Buffy nodded her thanks, and when she moved her head she noticed the stiff tension of her skin, and could feel the dried remnants of her own blood in spots on her forehead.

"Sorry about the hasty clean up job, but we didn't expect you to be out this long," Dawn apologized.

"I just want to take shower…" she moaned, pushing herself to the edge of the mattress, every enervated muscles protesting, "Ugh… if I can even stand."

"Here," Dawn extended her arm to shoulder Buffy and help her to the bathroom, "God knows how many times you've cleaned blood off of me."

Together, the sisters made their way to the only bathroom, located in the hall, and the others spilled back out into the dining room, taking their seats again at the table. At the bathroom door closing and the sound of running water, Xander pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.

"Alright, money on the table," he announced as the others pulled out cash from pockets and wallets, tossing it into a loose pile in the middle of the table, "Closest without going over wins."

They heard the door open and Buffy call out just as Xander exclaimed, "And, we have a winner at eighteen hours!" followed by an assortment of curse words from the group.

"Willow?"

Shamefully turning towards the sound of her name, Willow responded innocently, "Yes, Buffy?"

"Did we do a load of towels?" Buffy asked, eyes narrowed, "… if you tell me where they're at, I can get them so you can count your winnings."

"No, I… uh… didn't win," She dropped her eyes as she hustled down the hallway towards the washer and dryer.

"Really?" Buffy questioned the group, hand on her hip, "You were taking bets on how long I would be out?"

"We got a little bored," Xander shrugged, giving her a nervous smile, "Not a lot of information on an antique slayer amulet with negative ten to constitution, Buf."

"Don't worry, Sis," Dawn shook her head at them, patting Buffy's arm reassuringly, "I refused to participate."

"Thanks, Dawn," she acknowledged flatly.

"Not a problem," Dawn replied, "Who wants some chump pocket change? The real money was on you _not_ waking up—I've been waiting to cash in your life insurance policy for years."

Taking the towel offered by Willow, Buffy pushed Dawn out of the bathroom, and slammed the door in their faces.

"Just FYI—it was Spike who called 18 hours," Xander mentioned quietly, "In case anyone was curious."

"Where is Spike, anyway?" Willow asked.

"I haven't seen him since before Dean left…" Sam voice trailed off, distracted by redialing his phone, "And, Dean's cell has gone to voicemail twice."

* * *

When he roused, Dean was laying on a bench, the sun breaking the horizon, casting long shadows and coloring the playground in shades of amber. Rising with a start, Buffy was the last image burned into his mind. He met Castiel's eyes, full of whatever passed for empathy for Angels.

"You may experience residual emotions for a period of time, or have trouble discerning this reality from that which you just witnessed."

"Just get the hell out of here, Cas," Dean grumbled, pushing himself to his feet, "Otherwise, I'm liable to punch you in the face for guilt by association."

"Dean, I understand that was uncomfortable—"

"Uncomfortable!" Dean snapped, pushing Castiel so that he stumbled a few feet backwards, "My entire fucking life just flashed before my eyes, except I never lived any of it! My whole family, Buffy's family—you destroyed a bunch of innocent people's lives for all this?"

"I can assure you that I in no way participated in Zachariah's plans. Once I uncovered his treachery I immediately went to the Fates, and we began working to set right the wrongs done to you and yours."

"The Fates have been working overtime for you guys, Dean," Anna interjected, "They want everyone back on their intended paths, but some things just can't be changed, some lives can't be—"

"No! Anna! Just shut your hole right there!" Dean interrupted, exploding in anger, "That's bullshit, and you know it! You have used your powers to send me into the past and the future, so I know you have the power to make this right!"

"Too much has been irreparably altered at this point," Castiel explained, his words falling on stubbornly deaf ears, "We can only work within the restraints of this reality."

"Well, that's just too damn bad, Cas! I'm not going sit it out while Zachariah and the Fates make us their bitch!"

"Grow up, Dean—we're all fate's bitch!" Anna chided, "The Moirae don't like it when others play in their sand box. They tethered you two together to do something otherwise thought impossible—do you think they're just going to let Zachariah kick over their sand castle without a fight? Do you really think it was God that brought you and Buffy back all those times?"

"And, every god damn day I wish just a little bit more that they hadn't!" he spat, taking off in the direction of the apartment.

He had only made it about halfway across the playground, leaving the two Angels behind in his wake, when his cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. The screen indicated he had already missed two calls from Sam.

"Hello?"

"Dude! Where the hell have you been?" Sam's voice think with worry, "I called twice already."

"I'll be there in about fifteen minutes," he sighed, "I will explain when I get there."

"She's awake, "Sam added as Dean was drawing the phone away from his ear.

"How long?"

"Not very— suddenly, she just sat straight up in bed," Sam said, "… and, she was calling your name."

Dean just shook his head, "Fucking Angels, man…"

* * *

Deep under the very streets Dean was walking back to the apartment, Spike was traversing the moldering, dripping tunnels of the Cleveland sewer system. Arriving at a T-junction in the pipes, he saw Angel sitting on the concrete ledge.

"We're bolloxed, mate," Spike declared coming to a stop at the junction, "Followed Pretty Boy, and happened to overhear a conversation between him and a couple of Angels. Turns out Buffy and the Winchester prat are tethered."

"You can't be serious!" Angel shouted, banging his first on a low hanging pipe in frustration.

"Accordin' to the God Squad, some senior harp player's been playin' marionettes with the Slayer," Spike scoffed, "This Zachariah wanker is throwin' a pissyfit waitin' on the next Apocalypse. He's been alterin' destinies until he found the fast track."

"How is that even possible?" Angel asked, "Only Lachesis can write and control destinies."

"Right, but, remove enough obstacles, or in this case, important people, and you'll twist up a destiny so bad it's unrecognizable. Can't imagine Atropos and Clotho are all too happy about that bit."

"Do you think Crowley knew about this?"

"Are you kiddin'? Why else would he make a deal this good with us? The last thing the Regent King of Hell wants is the rightful heir to inherit the throne. If Lucifer is released, he has more to lose than anyone else," Spike explained, clearly agitated at the situation, "Above all else, he's a crossroads demon. He's probably in a fit of giggles over the irony that if we want to keep our end of the bargain to prevent the Apocalypse and keep Buffy safe, we gotta make sure she gets with the Pretty Boy."

"I don't know about you, but I think it's time to request an appearance at Hell King's court."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

A/N: I am very glad to be moving on this story again- had to work out a kink in the plot, and hopefully I did that with this chapter. Sorry about the delay. Here's a little plot development for your patience. And, just to be a tease, I've got some lovely Dean/Buffy scenes coming soon. Stay tuned, kids.

* * *

The last remaining element of the summoning spell fell into the bowl, and the mixture flashed and smoked. The lights blinks unevenly, fading to the point of darkness, then bursting back brighter than before in a brilliant flare. Angel and Spike shielded their eyes from the piercing light. When their eyes finally transitioned Crowley stood before them, looking bored and examining his nails.

"Poncy tosser always did love an entrance…" Spike mumbled.

"Oh no. Imagine that? A devil's trap…" Crowley feigned surprise flatly as he pushed back the cuticle on his left ring finger, "Oh, come now, Gentlemen—is all this song and dance entirely necessary?" his hands swept in both directions to indicate the Devil's Trap, "Plenty of crossroads in the Cleveland Metro area."

"Well, unfortunately, last time I had a reflection, no one had gotten around to inventing the camera," Angel smirked.

Crowley's eyes scanned his dripping, stinking surroundings, "So glad you lot went the extra mile for me, rolling out the red carpet for the occasion, and all. Will the champagne waiter be around soon?"

"Be as patronizing as you want, but I'm not really in the mood—"Angel began before rage exploded out of the otherwise controlled Crowley.

"And, I'm not really in the mood to re-negotiate terms with two brooding bloodsuckers while human excrement drips on my hand-tailored Italian suit," Crowley barked, the energy of his words reverberating off the bricks and pipes in the labyrinth of tunnels, "… then again, we don't always get what we want, do we? Which is why I'm not changing a single part of this deal- not if you two pissants expect me to turn you back into real boys."

"You're the one who came to us," Spike reminded, approaching him and staring him right in the eye, "…Begging, if I remember. So, it seems to me that the desperate party in this deal is you."

"I. Do. Not. Beg," Crowley emphasized his words clear and slow, eyes never deflecting from Spike's, "I also know there are several _other_ very interested parties I could have approached to see this deal through, but-" his lips twisted into an overly saccharin smiles, "Call me an old-fashioned, hopeless romantic though. I simply thought if was anyone should be rewarded for saving the Vampire Slayer, it should be her two star-crossed lovers."

"Which is why you were so open and helpful about mentioning Winchester and Buffy are tethered?" Spike scoffed.

"And, ruin the surprise? Not a chance. Then I would have lost the opportunity to see that look," Crowley drew a circle in the air around Spike's face, "On your face."

"I am done with your games and bullshit, Crowley!" Angel shouted, pushing Spike out of the way to grab Crowley violently by the lapels of his aforementioned suit, "I have no problem stopping the Apocalypse—hell, I'd do that for free. But, I'm not going to do it unless I can find a way that doesn't involve the hunter."

"You're very, very dense, aren't you?" Crowley directed a jab back at Angel, eyes narrowing from impatience, "See Romeo, the thing is it simply just does not work like that. Sorry to burst your moody little bubble, but it's a fact. I've done my fair share of altering fates in my day. Trust me when I say the Moirae have no love for me. I only avoid their wrath because my meddling is temporary. After my hounds come upstairs to claim a soul, fate returns to its factory settings," the emotion on his face changed to a serious determination, "The Flyboys, on the other hand, have bolloxed this reality into near oblivion, leaving us only one way to restack the Jenga tower."

White spots were bleaching Angel's knuckles. A beat passed between the three of them, and Angel released Crowley from his clutched fists. Both he and Spike regretted having nothing to say in protest.

When Crowley finally spoke again, it was just to add, "Do either of you honestly think making your ticker flicker is going to make her love you? Especially after everything _you've_ done?"

The last part had been directed towards Angel, and he knew it. He also knew Crowley was not wrong. Even if Crowley made them human again, it would not change the fact she could never, ever forgive him. She had walked down that path before, and she had been burned on more than one occasion. Despite the fact that he could not admit it to himself, he was well beyond redemption for the trespasses he had committed. And, then there was still Spike. Was he really up for that challenge?

The words left Crowley's lips and stabbed Angel like daggers. He had to stop prentending this was all just part of the chase. She was lost to him, and had been for a good while. It took the cold, calculating words of a crossroads demon to finally nail the coffin lid on his vain hope. One moment of pure happiness… and in that one moment he had won and lost everything. No more running from what he was, and no more chasing after that dream. The battle had been lost, and the fight no longer burned within him. A long time ago he had let her go—left for her to have a chance at a real life. For one second, when Crowley had appeared to him with the proposition of returning his humanity for the bargain basement price of preventing the Apocalypse, he had believed they could have a second chance together. Even all these years later, he was still naïve enough to believe that it was his curse keeping them apart. And, somehow, at this realization, all he could hear Spike's voice in his head calling him a _sodding git_.

"Here's what is going to happen Crowley," Angel countered, "I'm going to help Buffy, and stop Lucifer from rising. I'll even do what I can about Dean... but, when you make me human again, you wipe the slate clean. I don't want to remember anything. I don't even want to have deja vu when it comes to Buffy Summers."

Slack jawed, and more than a little confused, Spike asked, "Have you experienced some, until now, unknown head trauma?"

"No, Spike," he sighed, turning towards Spike, replying without malice, "I just had an epiphany, and I realized something you're going to realize eventually too..."

"Well, I don't want any brain washin' going on in my noodle, got that?!" He warned Crowley by pointing a chipping black lacquered finger at him, "Whatever temporary insanity he's got, I ain't got, and he's not speakin' for the both of us! You make me human again, I want my batteries included."

"Can we agree these are acceptable new terms then?"

Tossing his head from side to side, Crowley weighed and measured the counter offer, "Agreed, I suppose, as I can't really see where I lose out in this."

Stepping on the lines that traced out Crowley's prison, he drew his shoe down on the paint so that his sole scratched a break into the marks.

"Much obliged," Crowley nodded his thanks, stepping towards them, placing a hand on eachof the shoulders, "Now, since you two nimrods clearly lack any proper cognitive processes, I'm going to tell you exactly what you're going to do. Here's the plan… you might want to take notes, or perhaps in your case," he looked at Spike, "You could draw pictures. Whatever works for you."

* * *

While the ground was hard and cold, the sun on her face was like a kiss from California. After three days of cold, brittle air seeping into her bones, an unexpected warm day in the midst of the week was a pleasant little gift. Although, it was a little sad that a forty-two degree day had become something so desirable. Living in the Midwest was basically learning to live with extreme contrasts, especially this time of year. Winter in the Midwest was ridiculous—one day you could be dealing with two feet of snow and blizzard conditions, then two days later it could be damn near sixty degrees with a tornado watch. She missed California- there were no seasons out there, no surprises- just sunshine and warm breezes and palm trees. Out here in Ohio, it was the best you got this time of year, and she needed a little time away from the apartment to think.

Of course, absolutely no one was going to let her leave, not by herself and not under the circumstances. Which is exactly why she had to do a fair bit of sneaking. By no means did she run away, or anything dramatic like that. She just created an elaborate distraction by leaving a frozen pizza in the oven to burn, left while everyone argued over how to shut off the smoke detector, went down to the park, found a sunny spot, fell on the ground emotionally and physically exhausted, cried for twenty-five minutes, ate the entire pack of Twizzlers she had stashed in her coat pocket, seriously considered running away for another ten minutes, and now she was laying with her eyes closed, flat on the ground debating the futility of her existence—nothing dramatic.

Everything felt wrecked. The kind of life she led, nothing about it was enviable. For a very long time she had struggled to make it fit within the parameters of a normal girl's life. And, god damn how she had tried, desperately. The hard truth about being the Slayer that Buffy took about a decade to realize was that you can be normal, or you can be the Slayer. But, you absolutely cannot be both.

When she finally let go of that, and accepted that her life was remarkable, there was a serenity that had settled within her. She found predictability in the unpredictability of her life. She experienced satisfaction in what she accomplished, or prevented. She took comfort in the fact that the other Slayers would never have to make the kind of sacrifices she had been forced to make.

It had taken some time for her to accept her destiny, to really be honest with embracing her fate. She was never going to have a 9-to-5 or a suburban address… or a wedding anniversary. Sixteen year old Buffy would never have accepted that twenty-six year old Buffy was going have a life that would never resemble normal, ever. But, maturity yielded perspective. Now Buffy knew that if sixteen year old Buffy had gotten her way that she would have ended up very miserable.

She was the record holder—the longest living Slayer to date. And, she had no intention of retiring any time soon. There was a certain comfort now with abnormality. The idea of "settling down" seemed pretty pedestrian. Her normal was slaying, and no average Joe was going to fit into that equation. But, Dean… Dean was different. He had grown up in the life, trained from childhood to hunt evil. The parallels between their lives were not lost on Buffy—replacement father figures, supernaturally touched siblings, crawling out of your own grave… the similarities were eerie and familiar. If there was any kind of life to be built and shared in their world, they might have that possibility with each other.

Unfortunately for Buffy, good things did not come without strings- wihtout strings, how could fate to dangle hope in front of her. A life with Dean meant she was going to lose that peace she had struggled for so long to find. It would mean that what she had been happy to accept as her destiny, the path that had brought her resolution, was not her path after all. The destiny she had embraced was constructed from false promises and deceptions. Eventually, she was going to have to choose which destiny she was going to follow.

The colors dancing in her eyelids from the back light of the sun darkened a couple shades. Opening her eyes, Willow hung over her upside down. There was nothing happy about her face, and Buffy was positive that it had nothing to do with the fact she was upside down.

"I just needed to think," Buffy moaned, pushing up onto her elbows as Willow circled.

"I'm not even going to say it, Buffy," Willow sighed, disappointment and bottled anger coloring her words.

Buffy looked up at her through the tops of her eyes, shoulders slumped, and replied knowingly, "Yes you are."

"Damn right, I'm going to say it!" Willow shouted, "This was the dumbest thing you have done in a really, really long time! Running away, practically burning down the apartment building, and here I find you lying out in the open, completely defenseless, like demon bait!"

"Oh, you know what? Cram it, Willow. I'm going to start calling you Giles, or Joyce… or Joyles…" she got a bit distracted, and struggled in the middle part, "or, whatever… just stop acting like my baby sitter."

"Then stop acting like you need one," Willow bit back, "I know you said that vision you had was intense, but you gotta shake it off for now, and focus on the end game. We don't have time for you to be acting out, Buffy. There are two seals left, and you're one of them, like it or not."

"Like it or not…" Buffy laughed darkly, "Story of my god damn life… I'll see you at the apartment, mom."

Watching as Buffy walked away, Willow gave her a head start to leave some space between them. She was not sure if that was her way of giving Buffy breathing room, or because her anger made her not even want to be around Buffy right now.

"Trouble is paradise?" A female voice teased from behind.

"Excuse me?" Willow turned to acknowledge the speaker, a dark haired woman she did not recognize.

"Buffy seems pretty bent," she replied.

"Yeah…" Willow agreed, skeptical of the stranger, unsure of where she had come from, or how Willow had not notice her approach, "You know her?"

"Only by association," she half smiled, "You're Willow, right?"

"Have we met?" Willow asked, confused and searching her brain to place the face of the girl she was talking too.

"No, actually we haven't, but," her eyes blinked, and opened again to reveal solid black eyes, "We're about to become intimately acquainted."

Black smoke erupted from the girl's mouth, and before Willow could finish her counter spell of protection, it was already entering her own. The body from which it had ejected fell to the ground, lifeless. She could feel her body walking back to the apartment, and see with her own eyes, but it felt like her body had been hijacked. It was like she had been sedated. Her mind was still functioning, but her body was on auto-pilot. That is when she heard the voice in her own head.

"Sorry Willow, but I'm on a tight schedule here, and you've got two things I need desperately—the amulet, and some black magic."

"You think I'm just going to tell you where it's at?" Willow responded, yet the words did not come out of her mouth.

"I'm in your head, Glinda—I already know where you hid it. What I need now is to convince Sam he has to use it to defeat Lilith. And, thanks to you, now I have the power to make him very _receptive."_


	16. Chapter Fifteen

They had been driving around for some time looking for Buffy, and Baby was getting low on gas. Thanks to having lost the world's least fair game of "Not It", Dean had been stuck with Spike as his tag along, so he was also pretty low on patience at this point. And, over an hour later, no one had sent out word she had been found. Slamming his phone shut, having checked it four times and frustrated at the radio silence, he threw it on the dashboard of the Impala.

"What the hell was she thinking?"

"Trust me, mate— when it comes to Buffy, this is a game you will lose," Spike answered.

"We'll find her eventually. She won't get far before—"

Spike stopped him short, "I'm talkin' about tryin' to navigate that ludicrous brain of hers. It's all funhouse mirrors in that attic- even she gets lost up there, and that was before the Angel of Thursday rearranged her reality."

Reaching into his trench, Spike fumbled to retrieve his cigarettes thanks to the gloves that covered his hands, protecting his skin from the wrath of the sun. Finally managing despite the lack of purchase, he shook the pack of Morley's until a cigarette fell into his palm.

"You light that up in my car, I light you up," Dean turned with severity in his eyes, "And, for the record, you look freakin' ridiculous."

Huffing, Spike readjusted the ski mask protecting his face, "You can project on me all you want, but I ain't the one you're mad at, and you know it," Spike shoved the cigarettes into a more accessible pocket for later, "You think this is bad, you shoulda been around after she got ripped outta Heaven."

Dean tried to process Spike's words, "Ripped out?"

"Yeah, as in forcibly removed from paradise," Spike scoffed, "Cheers on that one, Willow. Buffy came back, but she was barely runnin' on fumes… came back… numb, and convinced she was somethin' unnatural. Suppose that's why she came runnin'g to me to put her pieces back together, so she could return to the livin', and keep up the ruse she wasn't shattered."

"I just don't get it," Dean replied with genuine perplexity, "Why a vampire? Why the one thing she was designed to eliminate?"

Without malice or sarcasm, Spike turned, staring out the window at the passing objects and moving people, and said, "Don't you dare think that for one moment I ever believed I deserved her—things I've done, Karma just doesn't work like that. But, Buffy needs a boy just this side of dark because she needs someone as broken as her," they rolled to a stop at the edge of an intersection, halted by the red light, and Spike turned back to Dean, "She'll never admit it, Winchester, but she knows every savior needs one person to save them from themselves. Her problem right now is admittin' that person is you, because if it is you, then her entire life is a lie."

"Just because Cas showed us some messed up Holodeck version of our lives, does not make us soul mates."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Spike spoke from the weight of experience,

"Clearly she has a type," Dean motioned sardonically towards Spike, "and, I ain't it."

"You're same as me, whether you like it or not. Angel and I, we carried that girl because we knew how to fight your way out of the darkness and back into the light. You bear that cross too, except you've got both a beat and a breath in your chest."

The light turned green and the Impala sped off the line a little too fast.

"Thanks for the pep talk Dr. Phil, but I'm not buying this true love, destiny bull shit. I'm not meant to be tethered to anyone. You know what happens to women who love Winchester men? They die. And right now, that's why I'm here—to keep Lilith from killing Buffy and stop the fucking Apocalypse," Dean abruptly flicked on his left turn signal and cut off a car merging into the turn lane of the next light, "I'm tired of waiting around—we're going back to the apartment."

* * *

Sliding into an empty spot in the parking lot, Sam and Bobby returned from their unsuccessful search and rescue mission at the exact moment that Buffy passed in front of their windshield.

"Hey!" Sam shouted out the passenger side window.

Throwing up an open palm like a stop sign, Buffy just swung around on the column that anchored the stairs and made her way up without even so much as a second of eye contact.

"Ya'know", Bobby snorted as he shifted into Park, "They deserve each other."

"Yeah," Sam pursed his lips in agitation, "Didn't really need a vision to figure that one out."

"I could beat Castiel senseless for this whole goddam mess," Bobby leaned back in the seat, "What the hell good did any of that _what if _nonsense do for either of them?"

"At least we know about the Order now—that's going to be incredibly helpful to us in the future. Not to mention the possibility of closing the Gates of Hell forever…"

"You're missing the point, son," Bobby lifted his hand to stop Sam, "They just had their whole existence rocked, and now they just gotta suck it and stop the damn Apocalypse. Except, they gotta do it with the knowledge that everyone they ever loved—your parents, her watcher, a handful of friends— a whole bunch of people would be here right now if…"

"…If Buffy and Dean were dead," Sam finished.

"Exactly," Bobby nodded sadly, "And, your brother was reckless and suicidal at the best of times. So, what crazy ass ideas is this mess gonna spin through that head of his?"

Despite knowing exactly what ideas it would spin, Sam avoided answering the question.

"I should make sure Dean knows she's safe, if for nothing else to release him from Spike duty."

"Yeah, but it's funnier if you don't," Bobby laughed, then added, "Make sure you refer to her as his _girlfriend_—he oughtta love that."

Snickering as he pressed the numbers into his phone, Willow suddenly dropped into the open window, causing them to both jump. The phone fell out of Sam's hand, slipping between the seat and the door.

"Christ Almighty, Willow!" Bobby shouted, clutching at his chest, "You tryin' to gimme a—"

A flick of her wrist sent Bobby's face slamming into the steering wheel, "Not now, Old Man."

Ripping the door open so far the metal hinges bent, Willow yanked Sam out onto the pavement, staring at her in disbelief. She was mouthing something, but he could not make out the words.

"What the hell?" Sam asked, reaching for his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

"…Out of my passions, a web be spun. From this moment forth my will be done."

Ruby could feel a surge course through Willow's body. It was intoxicating.

"Get up, Sam."

Without protest, Sam rose to his feet. Stepping up to meet his eyes, she grasped him by his jacket and crushed her lips against his.

"You're mine, Sam— no one is going to take you away from me again. Not your brother, not the Slayer—nobody. You and me have got a date at a convent in Maryland," with a wave of her hand, the amulet appeared in her palm, "and, you need a little practice time with this."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

"Son of a bitch!"

There was a trail of blood dappling the parking lot and the steps all the way up to the apartment. Immediately, his mind went worst case scenario, and he feared what he was about to find inside. In some strange way he could not explain, it made him feel better that it was Bobby rather than Buffy he found bleeding from the face. She was home and she was safe- part of him was relieved beyond belief, and the rest of him was pissed beyond measure. But, right now, Bobby's busted up face took precedent over berating Buffy. He had to settle for a fuming glare in Buffy's direction, and a whisper of "You're not off that easy, Darlin'" in passing.

Maryland—that's all Bobby could remember. At least, that's all he could remember after Willow smashed his face against the steering wheel and Sam dragged him, bloody and reeling out of her car. But, for all he did not know, one thing was clear—Willow had been possessed.

Fitting six into the Impala was not impossible, but it certainly was not ideal. Normally, Dean looked forward to a nice long drive—a winding river of asphalt laid out before him, focusing his attention and clearing his thoughts. But, this trip was more like a terrible family vacation. Coupled with the fact they had nothing once they got to Maryland, and Castiel was pulling a conveniently timed, yet not entirely unexpected no show, it was an understatement to say Dean was edgy. More than anything, he was still angry at Buffy's disappearing act. It was at about the two hour mark, as they were skirting Pittsburgh, that the grumblings of hunger and requests bathroom breaks became unbearable.

Dean's eyes focused sternly into the rear-view mirror to those in the back seat, "You do not break for snacks on your way to stop the Apocalypse!"

Averting his gaze towards Bobby for back up, his pleading glance was lost even to Bobby.

"We don't even know where we're going yet, Dean," Bobby reminded, "Or, for that matter, how long we have until Lilith makes her move. Hell, for all I know, this might be my last meal on this rock. I wouldn't mind a steak and whiskey."

"Un-freakin-believable," Dean rolled his eyes, gripping the steering wheel tensely and pulling into the parking lot of a BigGerson's.

They spilled out of the car heading towards the doors, compelled by either hunger or a need to expel their bladder. Bobby turned before following the rest of the group, giving Dean a skeptical look.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Dean Winchester would turn down a bacon cheeseburger and a slice of pie," Bobby smirked, which he immediately regretted as it pained his freshly cracked nose, "Keep trying Cas—I'll bring you a slice to go."

Holding his breath, he knew Bobby was right. They had crammed into the Impala and headed towards Maryland without a game plan. If Lilith was making an appearance soon, Castiel would not leave them in the dark, or, at least he thought better of Cas. Maybe that was a mistake, especially considering the revelations of the last few days. Dean leaned on to the hood of the Impala, hoping that wherever that bitch Ruby had taken Willow and his little brother, they were both alright.

Slipping out the driver's side door, lacking the enthusiasm of the others, Buffy lingered behind. As she crossed in front of the car on her way to join the crowd, Dean reached out and snagged her forearm, holding her back. She turned sharply, meeting his severe expression. Bracing for the expected verbal thrashing he was about to unload, she readied her responses for the anticipated argument. But, when he opened his mouth and nothing came out, Buffy let her guard drop.

Instead, he released her arm, and dipped his hand into the inside of his jacket. The falling sun glinted off the metal surface of a flask as he withdrew it from his pocket. Drawing a long sip, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered it to Buffy. Willingly, she accepted it without a hint of gratitude. He could not help but crack a smile when he heard the _ack_ that followed her swig, but neither said anything to the other. For the moment, there in the cold and the burgeoning darkness- without acknowledging the exquisitely awkward conversation both was finding every excuse to avoid having—nothing was shared but flask of whiskey between them.

"Has anyone ever told you-" Dean finally spoke when the flask was nearly empty, "what a juvenile, little brat you are?"

"With flattery like that, it's no wonder why I loved you," she asked with a sneering, sideways glance, offering him the remnants of the flask.

"What's there to wonder? What part of ruggedly handsome, professional bad ass doesn't speak for itself?" he retorted before he finished the flask, and slipped it back inside his jacket.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward to stand between his legs, bent and resting on the bumper, "Whatever—we both know it's the freckles," she smiled innocently, and bopped his nose.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Bobby's remarks in the car ran through his mind. It very well could be his last night, and whether or not the Moirae were going to bring him back, there was only one thing for which he hungered. In the next second, his hands were on her waist, spinning them both around to hoist her onto the hood. She pressed into his chest, and wrapped a leg around him to draw him closer. It was just about the time they both came up for air that they remembered they were very much in public. Buffy's eye caught the gawking, disapproving stare of very elderly couple stopped on the sidewalk.

"Sorry," Buffy apologized, trying to keep a straight face, "he just got out of prison."

"Yeah, haven't seen a woman in years," he winked salaciously at the silver haired lady, "Just can't control myself."

Buffy had to bite her lip when the woman huffed indignantly, and drug her husband away towards the door of the establishment.

"Deviant…" she muttered.

"Why don't we take this some place a little less public?" Dean nodded over her shoulder, and Buffy turned to see a pay by hour kind of place with a blinking out VACANCY sign.

"Dean Winchester, we are not going to do it in a sleazy motel!" she whispered angrily.

"Darlin', it's either that sleazy motel, or I rip your clothes off right here."

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and swallowed her pride. She really hoped the Moirae knew what the hell they were doing.

"What about them?" she motioned towards the restaurant to remind Dean about the others.

"Well… maybe your sister."

Buffy smacked his shoulder as he laughed.

"We won't be gone long."

"This is getting more romantic by the second," she responded flatly.

"If I kiss you again, will you please shut up?"

"Unlikely…" was all she could get out before his lips were covering her mouth again, and he was yanking her off the hood.

* * *

Watching them was like willingly letting poison seep through your veins. This is the way it had to be—he had to let her go, and with her the only real joy he had felt since Druscilla. At least, he would have the memories of being her Champion, unlike that poncy tosser, Angel. Yeah, it was going to hurt, but that was the price you paid for happiness, all things being equal and what not. He tried to remind himself that he was not losing the slayer- he was just trading her for the sunshine on his skin again. If the Fates had gotten their way he knew that by now he would be nothing but dust and legend, and he was grateful for that.

But, then again, those memories reminded him of when it had been his hands on her waist, his lips on her skin. Forcing his eyes away from the window, he focused on the bigger picture—Buffy got true love, and he got a second chance at a life not meant to be lived—something neither could have if they were together. Spike watched as the Pretty Boy led his Slayer away by the hand. Times like these, he regretted ever fighting for his soul. Without it, this would have been so much easier.

The waitress returned with their drinks, and Spike took his whiskey on the rocks, swirling it just enough to make it swish, but not to make it splash. The others gave their desired orders as she worked her way around the table making her way to him. Food was not a necessity for him. Unlike his companions, it did not provide him with nourishment. He could taste the flavor or feel the heat of spice, but food for him served a different purpose—comfort. It was an act of habit. Soon though, after he had helped stop the Apocalypse, Crowley restored his humanity, he would once again be relying on food to fuel his body. The thought struck him strangely, and he wondered if he would still crave blood.

"Excuse my friend, ma'am," he heard Xander say, and his head jerked up, "He has peroxide in his ears."

"What?"

"She asked what you wanted, Spike," Dawn replied.

"I, uh…" his eyes skimmed the menu again, nothing striking his fancy.

"I can come back," she smiled, but only to hide her agitation at having other tables with needy, wanting people with very little patience for her having to do her job for others as well.

The image of Dean leading Buffy away looped through his mind, making it impossible to do something as simple as order a plate of food. What did he want? He wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted Sunnydale, and his crypt, and a good fight to get his blood burning. More than anything, he still _wanted_ Buffy. But, that was impossible, which is why he _needed_ comfort.

"Chicken wings," he finally answered, and handed her the menu.

* * *

The food came, the food disappeared, and more drinks were delivered and downed. But, Buffy and Dean never joined them. As promised, Bobby ordered a slice of pie for Dean. The waitress returned with a plastic, pie slice shaped container, and the check. Doubting that Dean would be nice enough to make another pit stop down the road, Dawn ambled off to the bathroom while the remaining three divided the check.

The brightly tiled bathroom had three stalls, but one was out of order and the other two were occupied. Leaning against the wall next to the hand dryer, Dawn bounced a little, waiting for her turn. After a minute or so, the last stall door opened, and Dawn quickly slid in behind the exiting woman. As they passed each other, she thought the long white dress the woman was wearing was a little much for dinner at BigGerson's.

Outside the stall, she heard the other woman exit her stall. The water ran in the sinks, and the dryers kicked on. Then the door banged shut, and when Dawn stepped back out the bathroom was empty. Taking her time in the mirror, Dawn pulled out her pony tail to smooth out some of bumps that had formed. The lights blinked intermittently, and Dawn's weird shit-o-meter started registering. When you were Dawn Summers, sister to the Slayer, and former incarnation of The Key, blinking lights were never just blinking lights. The urge to flee rose in her chest, and her lungs felt restricted. Stepping towards the door, her path was blocked by the woman wearing the long white dress.

"Aren't you lovely," she stated, tilting her head and pursing her lips, "You'll make such a pretty little wrapper."

* * *

In the middle of a tangled mess of sheets and clothing, propped against the headboard, Dean trailed his fingertips down the length of her exposed back. Laying there, pressed against his chest and gathered in his arms, Buffy wanted to take everything in. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to pretend they were still in that better world. She wanted to lock this memory in a heart shaped box and keep it tucked away for another day. Yes, they were little less than perfect strangers, thrust together through forces beyond their control. Tomorrow she might wake up and finally let go, accepting that whatever happened between them over there had no foundation in this timeline. But, here and now, seduced by the scent of gun powder and aftershave, melting at the press of his lips against the crown of her head… right now, as long as he was willing, she was going to allow herself to love Dean Winchester.

"We should head back," she mumbled into his chest.

"Or, we could have an encore?" he raised his eyebrows, and clicked his tongue at her when she lifted her head to flash him an eye roll.

A knock on the door sent a fearful jolt through both their bodies. Ripping off the sheets to wrap around her body, Buffy leapt out of bed, grabbing her strewn garments on the way to the bathroom.

"Seriously?" Dean shouted, agitated at having been left completely naked, and expected to answer the door.

"Your pants are over there… somewhere…" Buffy pointed in a general direction, wrestling with her bra, "But, your boxers are on the lamp."

Another knock pounded on the door, this one louder and more forceful than the last.

"Coming!" Dean yelled, trying his best not to trip on his pants as he pulled them up on the way to the door.

Yanking her shirt over her head as the door opened, Buffy heard _"Dawn?"_ immediately followed by a crash of splintering wood. Dean was pulling himself from the destroyed fragments of the table as she came busting out of the bathroom. Standing in the door was her sister, but the look in Dawn's eyes was vacant and pointed. It was if she was staring through Buffy, but reading her thoughts at the same time. Coming towards Buffy, Dawn's head twitched, and instantly her eyes were acutely focused. In the split second just before the windows exploded, Buffy knew this was not Dawn. Glass shrapnel radiated out, spraying Buffy and Dean with a shower of sharp, jagged blades. Dropping to the ground, Buffy instinctively covered her head with her arms. When the clatter of jangling glass ended, Buffy lifted her head to see Dawn's hijacker running her hands over her arms and chest.

"It's warm in here," it blinked Dawn's eyes to reveal milky, whites lenses, and hugged her chest, "I need to test drive more inter-dimensional beings."

"Don't they have Cosmo in Hell?" Buffy retorted as she scrambled in the mess of scattered glass to rise to her knees, "You never wear a Slayer's sister after Labor Day."

"Not so fast, Big Sis," The demon extended her hand, and Buffy slammed face first into the glass, arms and legs pinned down, "You either, Lancelot-"

Dean was sneaking up from behind with one of the severed table legs. Another flick of her wrist sent him flying through the serrated window frame, the bare skin of his back scraping against the concrete outside. Dawn yanked Buffy from the ground by her hair, forcing her face to meet Dawn's.

"It's a genuine pleasure to meet you, Slayer," she smiled, and threw her against the wall above the bed, "Bit of an underwhelming, disappointment without you're amulet though."

"Lilith, I presume?" Buffy groaned, clutching her ribs.

"You're a little past your expiration date, aren't you Slayer? Buffy Summers, history's greatest Slayer," she taunted, "you're about to die for a very noble cause."

"I'm going to give you three seconds to get the hell out to my sister," Buffy warned, stumbling to her feet from the bed.

"Gladly," Lilith agreed, "she was just a beacon, anyway. All that Key energy burning like a bat signal for us evil doers," she slammed Buffy against the wall again, pinning her so she could not move, "I just needed to find her, so that I could find you."

Blood dripping from his back, Dean fell against the door frame for support. He watched helplessly as a black plume of smoke finished billowing out of Dawn and poured into Buffy. Collapsing to her knees, gasping for breath, Dean was relieved Dawn was still alive, but Buffy was coming towards him, all milky white eyes and laughing.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas," he began reciting the exorcism rites, and Lilith smashed his face again the door frame.

"Oh, she does not like it when I do that," Lilith-Buffy pouted, and then gasped as if she had just had an epiphany, "Awww, that's sweet. It's because she thinks she loves you."

Slumped against the door, Lilith punched him in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. But, he managed to sweep her feet out from underneath her, unexpectedly knocking her to the floor.

"Omnis incursion infernalis adversarii," Dean continued, barely above a gruff whisper, unable to manage much else until he could gather a solid breath, "Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

"That is… enough of that," she cried, voice breaking and writhing in pain, she kicked him square in the throat.

Flung upwards into the air, Dean's ripped open back slammed against the ceiling. Hanging there, choking, unable to recite the exorcism rites, he could only watch as Lilith rose to her feet.

"Don't worry, handsome," Lilith winked, "It will all be over soon. And, you'll see her again before you know it. I hear you two have a honeymoon spot in a cherry little corner of heaven." she smiled sweetly, as if she found the idea very romantic, "Oh, and Buffy sends her love. She says she'll see you on the other side," she added, blowing Dean a kiss, "But, before you two love birds can spend eternity together, I have to go kill your brother."

Exiting the partially demolished motel room, Lilith released Dean. Plummeting to the floor, he felt his rib cage snap in a few places, and his jaw fracture as it bounced against the floor. Despite the blood and the pain and the oxygen deprivation, Dean struggled to his feet to, ready to take chase. But, the feeling of a hand on his shoulder drew his attention away from Lilith, and as he passed through the doorway, he found himself in a magnificent room with gold trimmed panels and renaissance paintings. Jerking his head from left to right, discombobulated from the fighting and the apparent teleportation, Dean collapsed onto the gilded table in the middle of the room. Standing to his right, he could just make out a figure wearing a dark suit. Suddenly, the table became a large, soft white bed, and Dean was losing consciousness.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

A/N: (In which KleioVerity makes excuses for her extremely unacceptable delay in updating) My humble apologies, o' patient ones. Let me share with you the story of the last month an a half. I lost my teaching position at the end of May due to budget cuts, and the last month and a half has been a mad scramble of applications and interviews and lots and lots of driving. Long story short, I was really distracted, and now that I have secured a job for the fall, I decided I was long over due on updating. To whatever readers I still have left, enjoy. =)

* * *

The crunch of ceramic plates under foot filled Bobby's ears, and he pushed himself up from the floor. He was getting too god damned old for this kind of shit. Grabbing topside edge of the flipped table where the four of them had just shared their meal, using it for leverage as he climbed to his feet, his body ached where fresh bruises would be ripening by tomorrow, and his joints popped back into the original position from which they had been knocked. On the opposite side of the table, under the remnants of a busted chair, he saw the hunched form of Xander's unconscious body, and a man dressed all in black checking his pulse. Not too far away, leaning his back against the half wall of the server's station, legs sprawled out in front of him, Spike also was slowly coming around.

"He's got a pulse," the man in black stated, but Bobby was not sure to whom his comment directed.

"Suppose I can't say the same for you, can I? Bobby addressed Angel, putting the pieces together in his clearing head, "Just how many vampire ex-boyfriends does the slayer have?"

"Three," grumbled Spike from across the way, "Unless you count Dracula, which I don't—that was just lust and mind control," he huffed, brushing drywall and wood splinter detritus off his trench, "The pretentious twat…"

"Dawn!?" Xander screamed, bolting upright, searching frantically for a sign of his wife, "Where's Dawn?"

"Relax, Xander!" Angel took Xander by the shoulders, "She's in my car, unconscious."

"What part about that sentence is supposed to make me relax?"

"Someone please tell me what the hell just happened?" Bobby grumbled, rubbing the wet, sticky warm spot where he felt blood coagulating on the back of his head.

"Lilith took The Key for a joyride," Angel replied, filling in the holes as he helped an ungrateful Xander to his feet, "but, she ditched her across the street at a motel, where she jumped ship for Buffy."

"You let Lilith possess Buffy?" Xander pushed him in the chest.

"What do you mean _let_?" Bobby inquired.

"What do you mean _motel?_" Spike seemed to be the only one who registered that part of the conversation, "Bleedin' hell! Where's Winchester?"

"You were following us? What part of Buffy wants to skin you like Warren don't you understand?" Xander rolled his eyes, redirecting his anger at the other party he knew would have been privy to this knowledge, "Overpowered you, huh?"

"Yes, yes, I helped Angel get away. I told him to trail behind—which, considerin' the proper bollxin' of our current situation, I think deserves a _thank you_. I promise, the Slayer can beat it out of me at length, with gusto," Spike waved a dismissive hand at Xander, "But, she can't do that if she's dead. As long she's manifestin' a demon, that possibility gets ever more likely, so we need to find her and the Pretty Boy."

"Winshester was not at the motel," Angel interjected, to Spike's surprise, "And, he didn't leave with Lilith."

Bobby examined the blood he had rubbed off the back of his head, "Where in the hell's Dean, then?"

* * *

Pecan pie, fresh out of the oven- the scent was overpowering. As his head rose to greet the remarkable smell wafting about in the air, the opulent, unfamiliar surroundings brought his mind crashing back to reality.

Willow, possessed by his least favorite hell bitch.

Sam, under the spell of aforementioned hell bitch.

Buffy, possessed by the _original_ hell bitch.

All three were now missing in action, as well as himself, he presumed, since no one had seen him and Buffy slink off on their sexcapade.

"What happened to The Slayer?" a gruff, monotone voice asked from off to his left.

"Don't worry—my head's perfectly fine. And, I certainly don't have any broken ribs…" Dean complained, trailing his fingers gingerly over his rib cage, assessing the damage.

"Dually noted," Cas assured in his emotionless, sarcastic way, pressing his hand against Dean's chest, a halo of restorative light repairing the damage inflicted by Lilith, "but, it is imperative we know the location of the Slayer."

"You tell me, Cas," Dean snapped, jerking away from his hand before the healing process was complete, "Why don't you guys ever employ that Angel mojo in some useful application?"

"Such as finding your girlfriend?" Cas implied flatly.

"Woah, Slick, she is not my girlfriend!" Dean countered.

"Then what title does one normally give to the woman in which you engage in frequent copulation?"

"Pardon me," a mellow British accented voice interrupted from the other side of the gilded room, "but, do you mind terribly if we did not talk about my Slayer and with whom she copulates?"

Scanning the room for the disembodied voice, Dean spotted a salt and pepper haired man wiping a smudge from his glasses, sitting on a bench against the wall. Dean's continuously wandering eye also pinpointed the source of the delectable smell—a table stacked with stands and stands of various pies, all steaming, releasing their aromatic pheromones into the air for his delight. Dean squeezed his fists in disappointment, and refocusing his attention where it really needed to be.

"Giles? What are you doing here?"

"You know who I am?"

"I recognize you from my trip to Bizarro World," he admitted, "but, last I knew, you were worm food."

"Zachariah has us trapped in a place parallel to the known dimensions of Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Earth. In this place, even the dead exist."

"Yes, astounding, isn't it?" Zachariah emerged from a portal none of them had managed to notice, "This has been quite the extensive side project—a realm where I can manifest the spirit of any being- living, dead, or demonized," he brushed the lapel of his expensive looking suit as if he should be capable of nothing less, "Can't start a coup with the bottom feeders without a neutral meeting ground. God knows, I couldn't let their kind upstairs. What would the neighbors think?"

As he moved about them, he wandered over to the table of pie, extracting a slice, and deposited onto a clear plate, "Mmm. Delicious," Zachariah hummed, words muffled by his mouth full of food, "Your mom sure knew what she was doing, Dean."

"Listen, Douchenozzle, whatever your game plan is, you might as well forget it. I'm not going to help you."

"Even if it would save Buffy?" Zachariah pasued, hovering a bite of pie on his fork just in front of his face.

"Don't start that shit! Dangling Buffy on a stick like a carrot is not going to get my feathers ruffled, Fuck Bag."

"See, Dean, that's where I am going to call shenanigans," Zach abandoned his plate on a nearby table, gliding over towards him, wringing his hands, "because, if the thought of Buffy wasn't having some residual effect on you, your pupils would not do that dilate thing they do whenever I mention her name."

"Enough is enough, Zachariah," Cas attempted to pull his attention away from antagonizing Dean, "This is a dangerous game that you can't win."

"I hold all the cards, Castiel. The demons played right into my hands, Sam Winchester is on his way to eviscerate Lilith in her Buffy suit, all that is left is for Dean to play his part."

"You mean the part where I become Michael's meat puppet, and kill my brother?"

"Yeah," Zach smiled that thin lipped, smarmy little grin, "that's exactly the part I am talking about."

"Not happening," Dean shrugged his shoulders and stiffened his resolve, "so why don't you wrap up one of those pies to go, and drop me off at the nearest plane of existence."

"What part of '_Deal of a Lifetime_' aren't you comprhending here?" Zack frowned, "Don't you realize the rewards we will shower upon you if you just say yes?"

"Not interested."

"Let me show you something…"

Waving his hand, the room dissolved, Giles and Cas disappearing with it. When the room manifested again, Dean was seated comfortably on an oversized couch, one hand holding a condensating beer, the other resting on Buffy's hip as she laid curled up against him. As she laid sleeping, her own hand rested across his lap. On the third finger from her thumb, he noticed the a band of precious metal that looked very similar to the one he wore on his beer hand.

"This is supposed to entice me?" he lifted an eyebrow, "What part of me gives you the impression I want to settle down?" he scoffed, "I'm not exactly the kind of guy bring home to mom."

As the words spilled out of his mouth, he hoped Zach could not pick up on the fact he was lying, and if he did, Zach certainly did not say anything. He just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, with a self-satisfied smirk on his frog like face. Dean did not want him to know that the idea of having a normal, pedestrian life—of having a home with Buffy, his wife, was very appealing to a kid who had to grow up too fast, drifting from one place to another, running for his life from a slew of things that wanted to kill and/or eat him.

"Daddy," the gravelly voice of a sleepy four year old perked his ears, and his attention turned towards a hallway where he saw a dirty blonde haired kid with freckles, dragging a blanket, making his way towards the couch.

Dean felt like he swallowed a rock, "Hey… buddy."

The sound of a crying infant erupted through the house, stirring Buffy, who woke to greet their son.

"Robert Jonathon Winchester," her maternal tone almost gave him goose bumps, "Did you wake your sister?"

The whole scenario was almost laughable in its impossibility. This was the kind of life that both Buffy and he had resigned themselves to missing out on. This, well, hell, it was great and everything, but it was not them. It felt foreign, no matter how nice and warm and squishy it also made him feel.

"Dean, can you take Bobby back to his room so I can get a bottle ready?"

Catching himself staring, mesmerized at the miniature version of himself rubbing his eyes with his balled up fist, Dean shook his head, and scooped up the little guy. Bobby's head fell onto Dean's shoulder, and he buried his face into his father's neck. Dropping him into his sheets, Dean pulled up the comforter, and felt the urge to drop down and kiss the little boy on the head.

"Goodnight, buddy," he whispered.

"Goodnight," Bobby mumbled, "I love you."

"I, uh…" the knot in Dean's throat tightened, "I love you too."

"Yeah, you're right!" Zachariah, who Dean had already forgotten, was hanging in the doorway, "this totally cramps your style. How about this?"

The darkened bedroom dissolved, and suddenly Dean's eyes focused on narrow beam of light stretching across the road, contrasting with the darkening golden hues of the setting sun. Eyes darting to establish his surroundings, Dean gripped the handlebars of a motorcycle, and felt the tight grip of small arms cinched around his leather jacketed waist. He could conclude from the muted purple nail polish they belonged to Buffy.

"Or, let's get really exciting here."

When the world reformed they were on the deck of the Starship Enterprise, Dean standing next to the Captain's chair, wearing Command Gold, Buffy reading the results of some kind of report or another, wearing a tight little blue mini dress.

"Are you getting the idea, Dean?" Zach smiled, "You, Buffy, and your own little slice of eternity," Zach's hands moved to emphasize the surroundings, " Anything your imagination can conjure. It's done the minute you say yes- die together in battle, and return to heaven to live out your most mundane or depraved fantasies."

"Not going to happen, so fuck off," Dean wanted to say, thought he said, hell, couldn't really be sure because his attention was focused on Buffy running her hands across his yellow fabricked chest.

Then, instantly, Zach and him were standing in the gilded room again, the smell of cooling pie once again invading his nose.

"Well, if I can't persuade you like that, then how about this—"Zach stepped over to Giles who was now standing, surprised at their sudden reappearance, seizing him by his perfectly starched collar, "You agree to be Michael's vessel, or I send the soul of your girlfriend's replacement dad into the pit."

"Zachariah!" Cas shouted, "Listen to this madness for a second. You've fallen so far away from the light you can't even recognize the line between good and evil anymore."

Dean's mind was racing, and while his eyes told another story, one of concern and fear for Giles, imagining the look on Buffy's face when she found out her Watcher had been cast into the depths of hell, Dean managed to spit out, "You can take your offer, and shove it up your ethereal ass!"

Zachariah knew a bluff when he heard one though, "Fine, have it your way."

As Zachariah moved his free, opposite hand towards Giles, a flash of blinding light exploded around them, and when Dean's eyes adjusted, he was sitting on the ground in the grassy area outside the motel, fully healed, and Giles was on all fours next to him, rubbing his forehead.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby's voice echoed from around a corner, getting louder as he approached.

A crowd emerged from out of nowhere, consisting of their original party, minus one blonde slayer.

"Dean? Where the hell you been, boy?" Bobby scolded, though his tone was comprised of equal parts anger and relief.

"He was with us," Castiel's voice emerged seemingly from nowhere, and he came out of a shadow with hands dripping with blood, "Zachariah was holding us prisoner, but while Dean had him distracted, Giles and I managed to prepare a blood sigil for his return. He will not be gone long, so we must move."

"Giles?" Angel pushed to the front of the crowd, mouth agape at the sight he refused to believe.

A long cold moment passed between Angel and Giles as the normally composed Watcher managed to stand, staring daggers at the vampire.

"You're dead," Angel murmured.

Giles sneered, "What the bloody hell is he doing here?"


End file.
